Shifting Times
by Shadewolf7
Summary: I was the silent one, the story that was never told. For my own protection, of course...
1. Chapter 1

_I do not own Animorphs. Or Harry Potter. Or a raven, although I really want one. This story is a shameless self-insert, though I am not a shapeshifter, telepathic, or magical—despite popular opinion amongst my friends. I'll note anything I think is relevant as true or not, just so people don't get too alarmed. Tsume is not my name—I stole it from the Japanese language after watching Wolf's Rain, mainly because I like the way it sounds. I'm a girl, in case anyone is wondering, or I would have stolen 'Kiba' instead, but that one sounds masculine however I look at it and 'Tsume' seems at least a bit ambiguous._

_Shifting Times_

Hi. My name is Tsume. Don't ask my last name—I can't give you my real one. I won't even promise that it's my real name I've given, just as my friends in America will not promise that their names are Jake or Marco or Cassie or Rachel. Tobias might promise his name is real, but he's a hawk and hardly needs to worry about it—and who's to say he'd be telling the truth?

As you may have gathered from my name, I am Japanese—well, sort-of. I don't look it, except that I'm short and have dark eyes. And don't expect me to speak the language—I was adopted shortly after I was born. My birth-mother was living in America on a student Visa when I was born. She wasn't married and knew she couldn't take care of me… so she didn't try.

Odd though this may sound, I'm grateful for that. It was an open adoption, I knew of her. She did what was best for me, and it was perhaps the hardest thing she'd ever had to do. She named me, though, and it was a strong name, though it may have held a trace of bitterness for the birth-father I never knew or asked about—but she wanted to keep me, I know that much. She writes letters, sends gifts on my birthday and for Christmas, even though she can hardly afford to. But she couldn't take care of me, so she saw to it that someone else would—and made it so she could check up on me, though my brother wasn't so lucky.

My parents couldn't have children, you see, so they adopted. My brother's birth-mother… I guess it just hurt too much. She couldn't stand the thought of someone else having her baby, so she closed the adoption and tried to forget. She had to have loved him, though, to have given him up. There's nothing harder for a mother… well. That aside.

Tsume. Claw. A strangely fitting name, considering. I'm an Animorph, the silent one, the story that was never told. For my own protection, of course. I was only a child, after all, even by the others' standards.

My family lived outside of town, in the foothills before the mountains. My brother and I played in the forest and we loved to explore. One day I—we—strayed too far.

I saw something, an animal of some sort, and flickering light.

Ever heard the saying 'curiosity killed the cat'?

It was my fault. I know it was. We went closer, to see what it was—and then it was light and heat and fire and _panic_ and I tried to get my brother to run but something was wrong and he _couldn't_ and he shoved me down the hill.

I fell and rolled and somehow ended up stuck under a log and I couldn't get out and my brother was _up there with the fire_ and there was _nothing_ I could do…

I think it was the single worst day of my life.

I was eight years old.

Marco found me as I was trying to get out, not that I understood what was happening. He picked the log up and tossed it aside and scooped me up in one massive gorilla paw and kept running, his gait thrown off by only being able to use one arm.

I was numb when they brought me out of the woods with a broken leg and I don't even know what other damage. Burns from the fire, internal bleeding… they ran through their options and told me the truth and gave me a choice. I let them turn me, in too much shock to do anything other than nod until it registered that my brother wasn't with me.

By then I'd already touched the device, and my sudden struggles threw them off until they realized what I was saying.

They got me to touch the raven Tobias brought in, to morph it and back out, then took me to the hospital and told some half-truth story about hearing me when they were out camping and noticed the fire… told the truth insofar as the finding me and fire part, and the 'incoherent and in shock' part. I was mostly healthy, I suppose, though covered in soot and dirt, some scratches and minor bruising from when they took me from where we hid in the forest out.

I had to tell my parents about my brother, of course, when they came to the hospital. I don't think I made much sense—I was still in psychological shock. It didn't really occur to me that he wouldn't be at home when I got there…

Not 'till later and I actually _did_ get there. And he wasn't there. He just… wasn't there. Ever again.

Gods, even when we could barely walk he'd always looked out for me, saying it was his duty as a big brother. Three years old and he somehow knew that word, knew it and knew what it meant. At ten, he'd followed through with his self-imposed duty—followed through and it killed him.

If it hadn't been for Marco and the raven morph, I don't know what I would have done. My parents were wrapped up in their own grief and funeral plans after they found his body… they didn't have much time for me. Marco showed up at the door, having somehow wheedled my address out of some orderly at the hospital, and my parents let me go with him.

Marco distracted me, took over the role of big brother for the one I'd just lost, taught me to shift quickly and with clothes. Shoes were out, but my thin leather moccasins shifted fine… and the raven… it was so simple. I didn't have to think so much—I could just _be._ Even the things that panicked it were no trouble—it was no different that the all-encompassing terror I felt when there were too many people around, and that was something I'd learned to control even then.

Marco was a lifeline, and soon the others became an extension of that, all of them treating me like a younger sibling to be looked out for—even Ax. Though I never did learn how to spell his name…

My little web of lifelines ended up with me in the middle of a battle, once, but it was small and accidental—a stumbling upon a group of controllers, both human and Hork-Bajir, and it was a group of humans, a hawk, and an Andalite. _Bad_ news.

There could be no survivors… and it was the first time _any_ of them had had to kill humans.

That was about when they decided I needed a good battle-morph.

That was also a little over two years ago. I moved to England with my parents not two months after that—they couldn't stay where they'd lost a child, and my father had family over there. I wrote them—mostly Marco—and we worked out a code. Complicated enough that it would take some _serious_ effort to break it—over a hundred and sixty symbols, a good dozen of them duds or punctuation, only twenty-six actual letters, and the rest concepts or letter combinations—some could be used as both. Simple once we had it memorized and burned the papers, but almost impossible for anyone who didn't know it.

Even so, we kept most of the letters to the non-sensitive variety, mundane things… though when I complained of things falling down whenever I got distracted from work I was supposed to be doing, Marco laughingly informed me I was afflicted with 'OCD'. Overactive Coincidence Disorder.

I miss him—them. All of them. My parents have been a bit distant ever since my brother's death… I know they don't mean to blame me. I don't think they _do_ really, I think they just haven't gotten over it.

… and I don't think I have, either. _I_ blame me, whether or not they do. It was my fault we were out there to begin with…

His death wasn't my fault. Mom and Dad have told me that. Marco and the Animorphs knew better than to try.

Not my fault. But it was still my responsibility.

And they can't deny that. No one can.

Not that they haven't _tried,_ mind. But enough reminiscing. I prefer not to think about most of that time, though I refuse to forget my brother. I loved him and I have good memories from before then—but now things seem to be getting strange again.

Strange, but not Yeerk and Controller strange. Strange as in _magic_ strange.

I had turned ten the March before, and it was nearing mid-summer. I was in the yard when a small barn owl swooped down and landed in front of me on the porch railing, staring with too-intelligent eyes and hooting imperiously, holding out one leg.

Said leg had a letter tied to it.

That meant this wasn't one of the guys, visiting and perhaps playing a trick. A Yeerk wouldn't be able to survive in a skull the size of the owl's, so that was out.

I took the letter.

_xxxx_

_All right. Yes, I am adopted. Yes, it was open. Yes, I have a brother who was also adopted—closed. No, he's not dead—actually he's doing quite well and has a daughter of his own, now. Yes, we lived in the woods and had our share of potentially life-threatening experiences as children, though none of them involved fire. Moose, trees, falling logs, pitfall and deadfall traps, and swamps—but not fire. No, I really don't know who my birth-father was, and I don't care enough to ask my birthmother and bring up what my mother says are bad memories for the poor woman. Yes, I really do panic if there are too many people around, though I've gotten pretty good at hiding it—until I start to hyperventilate, anyway. As I said, shameless self-insert. Oh, and my Dad really does have family in England, though I've never met them and have only been to London once, and that was for a school-hosted educational tour—of Europe. We didn't stay in London long enough for me to do much aside from wish to get out._

_Not that London's a bad city, it's just… I appear to be allergic to it or to something that's in it in the spring. I got off the plane and didn't stop sneezing until we got to France._

_The point of this chapter is to give you a feel for the character, who will branch a bit from my personality to a slightly darker and more outwardly stoic one—the one I tend to get when I'm feeling depressed for whatever reason. This self-insert is more a 'what I could have been' than a 'what I am'. I have no doubts that my brother—even at that age—would have done anything to protect me. Now he's got his kid to worry about, but he still takes good care of his little sister._

_I'm putting this story out with the intent of feeling out the crowd—it's written for my own personal pleasure. If it is not well-received, I might not leave it up. If it is, wonderful._


	2. Chapter 2

_Celtic Wish—Thank you for the kind review! I admit I haven't seen an Animorphs crossover before, either, but there are so many HP stories out there… Anyway, I'm glad you like it. I shall continue!_

_And I don't own 'The Wizard of Oz', either._

_xxxx_

I read the letter, blinked, and read it again. My first thought was 'prank', but owls were temperamental birds of prey, not couriers. Unless maybe it was Marco in disguise—but he would have said something by now. If someone—or many someones, as it seemed—actually used them as carrier pigeons… well. 'Prank' was unfeasible.

Rachel had once told me—jokingly—"It's just 'cus you're magic." I don't remember in reference to what, but I'd certainly never thought she was _right._

Well… I could keep being a shapshifting vigilante freedom-fighter from my parents, but going to a boarding school would require permission. And convincing. And not just them, either… I was probably a bit more open-minded than most, as I tend to sneak out at night and morph into a variety of different animals, but _magic…?_

Well. If this _was_ real, it could help. A lot. Alone, in a low-activity (for Yeerks) area, and at a mere ten years old with parents who couldn't help but check up on me several times while I stayed over at friends' houses… I really didn't do much. But if the others ever needed me, I wanted to be ready, to be able to _help_. If this whole 'magic' thing pulled through… the possibilities would be endless. There might even be a way to extend or bypass the time-limit, or ways to tell if someone was a Controller. Maybe even ways to remove a Yeerk from an unwilling host without having to deal with Kandrona starvation.

Maybe ways to protect our identities, our families… maybe creatures that could _really_ fight. Lions and tigers and bears (oh my) were all well and good, but if something like _dragons_ really existed, even Visser Three could be brought down. Assuming, of course, that they weren't tiny little helpless things.

Though, considering our luck, they probably would be.

I shook my head, trying to dislodge the thoughts of a war that, as of yet, I could do nothing about. The letter, though, I _could_ do something about, so I brought it to my mother.

Two weeks and a visit from a teacher later, we were in the singularly most unusual alley I'd ever seen. At least, it was _called_ Diagon Alley. It looked more like a small town, albeit a town riddled with unusual things.

The teacher, a brusquely fair woman named Minerva McGonagall, met me and my parents outside a large white marble building called 'Gringotts' that claimed to be a bank. She helped us with the Goblins (who were cool) and explained the money-system. She also pointed out the shops that we would need to visit before going off to buy supplies of her own.

We ran into her again at the bookstore and I found myself talking to her. She was easy to talk to, despite her stern demeanor. Her subject intrigued me—Transfiguration sounded like an external variant of my morphing ability, except powered by magic and will instead of DNA and some extremely complicated technology. (Ax tried to explain it to me once, and I got lost around the first mention of 'Z-space.)

She seemed rather pleased to encounter my interest, and she was very helpful. Undoubtedly, she would be less pleased if she knew just what I was thinking of _doing_ with it… Transfiguring Taxxons seemed like a good way to deal with them. And Yeerks, too. Maybe regular caterpillars and slugs. Transfiguring Visser Three might be kind of fun, too…

"My dear child, are you all right?"

I snapped my attention back to the bespectacled teacher. "Sorry. I was thinking—is it possible to transfigure living things?"

"Yes, of course," Professor McGonagall smiled, "You won't start getting into that until Second Year, of course, it's much more complicated than non-living Transfiguration."

"What about people? Could they learn how to… I don't know, turn into animals or something?"

"Yes, although it is difficult to master," Professor McGonagall smiled slightly, "Every witch or wizard has an animal that, should they have a strong enough magical core as well as a great enough grasp of Transfiguration, they could change into. Of course, you need to register with the Ministry of Magic for it to be legal, and there are very few actual Animagi out there."

"Can you do it?" She had seemed a bit too pleased with the question.

"Yes, I can transform into a cat."

"Really?" Cats were fun. I had a small, dark gray tabby in my repertoire—it was very satisfying to be a cat. The feeling of compact power and the innate confidence and balance… it was wonderful, and there was a sharp edge of cunning, predatory calculation that could be usurped by sheer playfulness at a moment's notice. I wondered if Animagi got the instincts or only the shape of their animals when they changed.

"Yes, really," the smile was indulgent, now, and I got the feeling that this woman liked me.

"Can you change into anything else or is it a one-animal thing?"

"One animal only, I'm afraid. There's never been a Animagus able to transform into more than one."

Ah. Thus the registry—it would put a damper on the misuse of an animal form if you knew someone could just look it up in a Ministry logbook somewhere. Not like us Animorphs—we could change into people just as easily as animals, and could become anything we touched—provided we decided to Acquire DNA. Thinking of which… "What about people?"

A slight frown crossed the woman's face before she understood what I was asking. "No. There are a few people who can naturally change their appearance and a few glamour-spells, but the actual taking on another person's appearance can only be done with a potion. An _illegal_ and highly difficult to brew potion." She smiled a bit, "Besides, the potion only lasts one hour and an Animagus can remain in animal form indefinitely."

Indefinitely? So… There _had_ to be some way to take off the time limit. Maybe not for the others, but at least for me, since I had magic. Hopefully for the others, too… Tobias may be happier as a hawk than a human, but I wouldn't wish his fate on any of the others.

I was suddenly getting a rush of ideas and wanted to talk longer, but my parents found me.

"Tsume, there you are!" Mom blinked, "Oh, I'm sorry, Professor McGonagall. I hope she hasn't been any trouble."

McGonagall gave a truly warm smile, "She's been no trouble at all. It's rare that I find such a young student with this kind of interest in my subject before the first class, especially amongst Muggleborns. I'm looking forward to seeing her during the school year."

My mother nodded to my soon-to-be teacher, then turned to me when McGonagall politely excused herself. "Tsume, you know better than to wander off like that," she scolded, "Stay where your father and I can see you!"

I sighed. Sure, I knew why they were so… overprotective, but it was still annoying. And what on earth were they going to do when I went to a _boarding school_ for six months? "Hai, 'Kaasan." Some of the few words I knew in Japanese—I tried to make use of some of them, as my birthmother had encouraged me to learn the language, but that meant my parents had to put up with it. They did, too, and took it as a sign of apology when I switched to something I still had to think about to speak.

I figured it couldn't hurt to let her think I was sorry for wandering off amongst the bookshelves, though I wasn't. I was sorry that they worried so much, though, and it would amount to the same thing, as far as Mom and Dad were concerned.

Mom nodded, "I know you're excited, but it's best we stay together, at least until we learn the layout of this place."

Tactically speaking, she was right. Although I hoped she would never find out that I tended to think in such terms—I may not be on the frontlines, but I _will_ be and I know it. It's best to prepare while I can.

We went through the shelves and found the assigned First Year books—Beginning Transfiguration, The Standard Book of Spells, Basic Countercharms and Jinxes, and Beginning Potions—and moved on to the Apothecary. Well, the wizard's version, anyway.

It smelled rather nice, really. Like exotic herbs—but it wasn't a pharmacy or store of natural medicine. Instead, it appeared to sell only potion ingredients; everything from mint to beetle eyes, although there was a unicorn horn on a cushion and a small basket of what claimed to be Chinese Fireball scales in the corner. Whatever a Chinese Fireball was… although if those were its scales, I had no doubt that it would be a rather striking creature—anything that shade of red would have to be.

We got the basic kit for First Years and Dad humored me and let me go examine the gleaming white horn in minute detail. Mom opted to leave as quickly as she could, due to her allergies acting up from something in the store.

I _really_ wanted to touch it—who knew? Maybe there was enough viable DNA left in that thing for me to get a blueprint… but the sign said 'No Touching', and I was willing to bet the man behind the counter intended to enforce that rule.

Eventually we made our way to the robe shop, where I suffered through allowing a stranger to measure me. The fact that she was a nice stranger hardly helped—I had to let the woman _touch_ me—but at least she was efficient when she saw how edgy I was. Finally, _finally_ we got to go to Ollivander's.

The wand shop. On one level, it seemed silly—if I could make strange things happen by accident, why should I need a wand to do it on purpose?—but on several others, the idea was alluring. A _magic wand._ It sounded like something out of a fairytale… and I'd had precious few things childlike in my life of late.

The whole thing sounded like something out of a fairytale. Somewhere in all this wonder and magic there had to be a catch. There just _had_ to be—I mean, if non-magical people could occasionally cause a lot of harm, what would happen should a magical one want to? But for this one day, I was intent on ignoring the fact that somewhere in all of this fairytale wonder there would be the Wicked Witch, just waiting to send out her wretched flying monkeys and I was going to pretend that this was the magical Land of Oz, safe and filled with innocent magics like color-changing horses and nice women who could turn into cats.

The wand shop was not overly endearing, inside or out. It gave the impression of being a rather dusty storeroom for long, as though whoever stored things here made things simply because he liked to, then set them aside as he had no use for them himself. If it weren't for the desk, I would have thought we'd walked into the wrong place—the desk was clean, a spare inkwell and a few scrolls of parchment neatly placed in one corner while an open piece of parchment with neat writing was spread in the middle held by three paperweights and an inkwell with a quill in it.

The man _almost_ snuck up on me—would have if I hadn't had practice with the Animorphs. (Rachel had somehow been convinced to teach me awareness of surroundings… as a cat. Do you have _any_ idea how hard it is to hear a cat when it is deliberately sneaking up on you? And then, of course, Tobias joined in, then Rachel in owl-morph, so I'd keep an eye on the sky as well. Unlike hawks, owls make virtually _no_ noise when they're flying…)

I heard him just a few feet shy of 'too close to dodge' and spun.

My father jumped at the action. (Mom had waited outside when she'd seen the dust.)

"Ah, Tsume," the man said softly, "I had wondered when you would be in for your wand."

The fact that he knew my name could be explained away any number of ways, but I found myself wondering if any of these magic-users could read minds. It would be bad news for me if they could.

_Calm,_ I ordered myself. I could do calm. I could do _focus_—it helped with morphing, turned it from something grotesque to something elegant, even beautiful. It also, I'd found, could be used to get rid of injuries without attracting notice. A cut on the hand, and said hand could be flipped over, the skin shifted (preferably to something not long-furred) and shifted back without anyone seeing, and the cut would be gone. The same tactic could be employed while in morph, and it was quick. I could even do _meditate_. My therapist had taught me how, before he started me in on martial arts, then insisted I continue.

A slight frown crossed the man's face, then he carefully selected a box from a dusty shelf and opened it before handing me the wand it held. "Beech wood and dragon heartstring," he stated, "fourteen inches, rigid."

It took me a moment to understand that he was describing the wand, but I took it anyway.

"Well, go on, give it a wave."

I hesitated, then shrugged. The stick felt oddly _alive_ in my grasp, but it grated against my sense of self and the pulse of energy it gave off was brief and stinging.

I dropped it with a yelp and glared down at the offending piece of beech. "No."

"It would seem not," Ollivander agreed, bending to pick up the wand and return it to its place. He came back with another and an intent expression—something that made me nervous, to say the least.

"Try this one," he offered me a plain length of dark wood with no further explanation.

It grated much like the other had and I handed it back without waving, "No. I'm not getting zapped again."

He blinked, "What makes you believe you would be?"

"It feels like the other one," I informed him. "So, based on experience, it should do the same thing."

"Hm," the man seemed altogether too interested at that, but didn't ask me to wave the wand. "Perhaps dragon heartstring is not for you." He placed the wand back in its box and set it aside before reaching for another, seemingly at random. "Try this one."

It was a light, silvery wood—perhaps birch or aspen. I took it.

The feel was different, not grating and more alive, but it felt too… hot, somehow. I waved it anyway, but its draw was strange and it made me feel feverish and dizzy. I shook my head and handed it back, "Too warm."

"Phoenix feather," he explained. "It seems you have a natural ability to tell a wand's core, and whether it would be right for you. Why don't you just walk though and pick one."

To a wandmaker, that was probably some great talent, but to anyone else, it would hardly be useful. Still, I was grateful for the offer—it meant no more shocks or instant fevers. The first wand I touched felt clean, too clean. Pure on a level beyond anything I'd felt before, so of course I asked what it was.

Ollivander came and glanced at it, "Tea tree and unicorn hair, from a foal. Not very powerful, but very good for healing."

"Mm," I moved on. Of course unicorns would feel pure, and so would baby animals—put them together and… voila. Although I doubted I would be a healer. Another felt clean, but not that overwhelming purity—but still not _right._ I ran into several more grating prickliness and a few of that great warmth, one of which felt comforting. I mentally marked where that one was and continued on.

Then I touched one that felt icy cold, somehow. The wand itself was a deep, clearish red—like crystallized blood or fire—and had a soothing, pungent smell. Somehow it felt familiar, the chill as comforting as the phoenix-feather wand of silver birch. "What is this one?"

"Thestral hair and crystallized Dragon's Blood," Ollivander stated.

I blinked. "_Dragon's blood?_"

"No, not the animal. There is a tree from China which bleeds red sap called 'Dragon's Blood°'. A fellow wandmaker who lives near where the tree grows sent me some and insisted I make a wand with it."

I nodded my understanding and moved on, again mentally marking the place in my mind.

Not a single other wand in the shop felt right. I sighed and turned to Ollivander after sending my father an apologetic glance. He'd been waiting patiently, even though I know he just wanted to get out of there.

"There are two, Mr. Ollivander."

"Two?" That seemed to come as a surprise, but he shrugged slightly. "Bring them and we'll have a look."

I retrieved the two boxes and Ollivander's eyebrows rose, "Well, well. That _is _curious. Very curious indeed."

I didn't want to ask… unfortunately, Dad did. "How so?"

"This wand," Ollivander laid his hand over the box with the birch wand, "is made from phoenix tail feather and silver birch. The phoenix was a young female—no more than three hundred. The phoenix, as you probably know, is a symbol for eternal life. Unless they are killed, they live forever by being reborn in fire. The other is Thestral hair and Dragon's Blood. Thestrals are a symbol of death, because only someone who has witnessed death can see them."

Huh. That _was_ curious.

"Take them out, one at a time, and give each a wave."

I did as I was told, lifting the Dragon's Blood wand out of its box and swishing it down through the air. I felt as though I had an icy wind blowing through me, refreshing and wonderful—and, somewhat to my surprise, the red wand erupted in a shower of silver and black sparks that sprinkled through the air and floated upwards to the ceiling before slowly blinking out.

The phoenix feather wand had an oddly similar yet completely opposite reaction. I felt as though I'd just settled down in front of a warm fire, a soothing sort of sense of well-being seeping through me as red and gold sparks scattered down towards the floor. On total impulse, I picked up the Thestral wand without putting the birch one down, and the two sensations mixed and clashed, not blending so much as _coexisting_, filling me with a strange sensation of cold warmth.

Ollivander slowly relaxed, apparently having become alarmed when I decided to pick up two clashing wands at the same time.

"Perhaps both would suit you," he mused finally. "The Thestral wand is better for Transfiguration and Defense while the phoenix wand is wonderful for charm-work. Both are exactly nine inches. Do please be careful with them. Twelve Galleons."

Dad paid while I idly wondered just what I was getting myself into.

_xxxx_

_Dragon's Blood—believe it or not, to the best of my knowledge that bit is true. At least according to the man who runs Aurora Essences in Haines, Alaska. A lot of people find Dragon's Blood smells a bit overpowering by itself, but combined with amber it's really quite soothing. I don't doubt that, dried into amber itself, its scent would be much fainter—almost unnoticeable from any distance._

_All right, the bit about the therapist and meditating and martial arts—I wasn't kidding. He thought I was too timid and that learning martial arts would be good for me. We never got past basic stances, as he decided to start a dojo and I was in boarding school, but for the sake of this story, we're going to assume actual training. I know the two-wands thing might be a bit odd, but you'll come to understand the symbology I'm going for later, I hope._

_This chapter was a bit slow, but things should pick up a bit more next. Trains are wonderful things._


	3. Chapter 3

_xxxx_

The platform was crowded, full of milling people, and—even worse—loud. As soon as I got through the dividing wall, I almost had a heart attack. I retreated behind a pillar to the only open space in sight and focused, putting aside the unreasoning terror that always reared up in such situations. Beyond the people was a bright red train—target. I had to get _on_ the train. Doing so now instead of later increased the chances of finding an empty compartment…

But there was no way I'd get through all those people without breaking down. I was visibly shaking already, my heart and breathing elevated far beyond what I thought of as healthy. A borderline panic-attack, on the verge of hyperventilating—I could handle compartments of people once the crowd thinned out a bit, but this milling madness was beyond me, especially with my parents unable to escort.

_Target out of range,_ I told myself dryly. Any sane animal would think the same, refusing to enter the milling mass of humans. And as my only weapons were a selection of animals and two wands I had no idea how to use, the target looked as though it was intending to _stay_ out of range.

I glanced down at my trunk, a massive, clunky old thing that was nonetheless oddly lovely. It had been in my house for as long as I could remember. When I was little, my brother and I would pretend it was full of pirate treasure. It was made from a beautiful dark red-purple wood, and polished with oil and beeswax until it held a soft glow and bound with strips of an unidentified silvery metal. It had been in the family for generations, according to my parents.

Still, they had no use for it aside from storing old clothing, so they gave it to me to take to school instead of buying a new one. There was only one problem. Somehow, I had to get it onto the train, likely with very little time to actually do so. But the crowd was admittedly thinning out—at least at this end of the platform—and quieting. A little.

I could do this. Really—don't think about it and just—start walking.

It wasn't that bad, really, after the fact. Sure, I got stuck with the part that actually involved getting the heavy trunk onto the train—my human self was nowhere near strong enough to lift something of that size and morphing in the middle of the platform was _definitely_ a bad idea—but twin redheads helped me out. After giving me a heart attack—they were _loud._ And rather vibrantly alive, cheerful to the point of creepiness.

I'd had friends like them before (they rather reminded me of slightly less jaded versions of Marco), so I knew they were just trying to cheer me up—they were the sort that made their goal in life be bringing a bit of laughter to other people's lives. Still, they put my already frazzled nerves into a state of near-collapse, but at least they gave names and were helpful. Fred and George then passed me off on their little sister, another redhead named Ginny.

Ginny was nice and she led me to a compartment that she and her twin older brothers had appropriated. Mind, the twin older brothers didn't actually _stay_ in the compartment, so it was just Ginny and me.

And it remained mostly quiet for some time. Ginny fell asleep, and I was in no mood to wake her for a conversation. Instead, I settled down to read my Potions text, as it held a great deal of complex and potentially useful information. It was rather like cooking, but with far more uses. And I _like_ cooking.

Ginny woke up when a kindly-seeming witch knocked on the compartment door, "Anything off the cart, dears?" she asked.

I shook my head, "No thank you, Ma'am."

Ginny declined, as well, and the woman moved on.

"So," I glanced at the older girl, "Is there anything I should know about this school?"

"You're a Muggleborn?" Ginny asked, unwrapping a sandwich, "Well, there are four Houses—Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin."

"Yeah, I read about the houses," I tilted my head a bit, "I guess I'm more interested in your impression of the school as a whole—what it's like. You know, your overall impression of the place. Is it nice?"

She looked a bit edgy at that question, "Um. Well, mostly. I sort-of had a bad experience last year with a weird diary and a Basilisk, but that's a sort-of one-time-only thing. Aside from that, I really liked it."

"Basilisk?" I caught the wary tinge to my own voice—there were many legends and stories of a great reptile that could turn its prey to stone, but the descriptions varied from lizard to snake and from a mere glance to a sung spell.

"Big snake," Ginny stated, shuddering, "If you look in its eyes, you die, but if you just see the reflection of its eyes, you turn to stone."

"Ah." Dang, _that_ would be a useful critter to have in my arsenal. "King cobra big or anaconda big?"

"Swallow Dad's car big." Ginny was looking ill, probably from the memory.

"Sorry," I apologized, "I love snakes. I always have—my Grandpa used to raise rattlesnakes in Arizona, I think I got it from him."

Ginny gained a faint look of alarm, "Don't start telling people that," she instructed softly, "A lot of people see snakes as a sign of a Dark wizard."

That puzzled me. "Why? They're just animals."

"You-Know-Who can talk to them, and so could several other Dark wizards. His symbol is a skull with a snake coming out of the mouth."

"And the symbol of healing and medicine where I come from is two snakes twined around a staff. Snakes aren't evil and their venom, used properly, can heal. After all, all non-magical medicines are poisons in greater quantity."

"Really?" Ginny blinked, then shrugged. "It doesn't really matter whether or not they are, though, It matters that people _think_ they are."

Ugh. I hate superstitions. And stereotypes. And government propaganda. And Visser Three, so long as we're on the list.

"I'll keep that in mind."

And then the train jittered to a halt and the lights went out.

I brought forth the focus that could change into a full morph in a heartbeat, reaching for the tiger to change my eyes. The tiger's eyes had round pupils, so would draw less attention than the cat's, even with the glow. All I needed to do was keep my gaze from landing directly on anyone else's, and even the reflected light shouldn't draw attention.

Ginny came into view, a washed-out blue tint covering everything as my vision settled into the tiger's.

"Ginny?" I asked as she felt her way around the compartment.

"Come on," she said, "I'm going to go look for my brother."

"All right," I followed, repressing the urge to ask 'brother?', as the only brothers of hers I knew of were the twins.

She stumbled several times and muttered under her breath before raising her voice, "Why aren't _you_ tripping?"

I hid a grin, "I've found myself lacking sight more than once. I alter my method of walking to compensate." True, but not what I was currently doing.

"You sound like Snape," Ginny grumped, and I tilted my head.

Snape? Presumably someone at the school.

"Sorry, I couldn't resist. But really, if you lift your feet a bit higher and make sure your leading foot is firmly planted before picking up the back foot, you'll trip a lot less. Keep one hand on the wall for reference—it helps when you're blind."

I watched with some amusement as Ginny took my advice, her balance firming with the point of reference and her steps turning more deliberate.

"Thanks," she said eventually, then the door her hand was placed on slid open, knocking her a bit off-balance, and another girl ran straight into her.

"Ow!"

"Who's that?"

"Who's _that?_" Ginny shot back, a bit defensively. I suppose I would have been defensive, too, if someone had just bowled into me.

"Ginny?" The other girl stood up while I pulled Ginny to her feet, "Is that you?"

"Hermione?"

"What are you doing?" the bushy-haired girl asked as a few others became visible (to me) in the compartment behind her.

"I was looking for Ron," Ginny said, "I've got a First Year with me, her name's Tsume—"

"Come in and sit down," the other—Hermione, I reminded myself—said, backing back into the compartment.

Ginny brushed up against one of the boys in the compartment, a male with dark, shaggy hair—but with the tiger's night-vision, I certainly wasn't placing any bets on the color.

"Not here!" he said quickly, sounding a bit alarmed, "_I'm_ here!"

Another boy, about the same height as shaggy-hair, jumped when Ginny tripped over him. "Ouch!"

"Over here, Gin," said a much taller male, presumably her brother Ron.

Ginny settled as the man on the opposite side of the compartment started to stir, and the tiger's barely-there instincts all but _growled_ in the back of my head.

"Tsume?" Ginny called.

"Quiet!" the man was sitting up, now, and my eyes met his—they held a glow not too different from the gleam I knew my own held, and I knew he could see just fine.

"I'm fine, Ginny," I said softly, not breaking that gaze, "but there's something out there."

The man started to raise his arm and I willed my eyes back to normal just as flames crackled to life in the man's hand.

He looked… tired.

"Get in here, _quickly._"

I obeyed, moving forward and sliding around his reach for my arm—non-hostile, but old habits die hard.

"Get behind me," he growled, eyes intent on the doorframe I hadn't entirely shut.

A sense of chill started to crowd the edge of my mind, a chill that held none of the comfort of my Thestral wand—one that felt more like the kind of cold that would permeate the waters beneath thin ice when one fell through, unable to get out. The overwhelming sort of cold that spoke of despair and death.

And the door slid open, darkness incarnate in towering robes of black—rather like what I thought a Grim Reaper should look like—a hand. The sort of thing not even a Taxxon would eat, wretched and decaying, alive or undead—it was impossible to tell by sight alone.

It jerked its hand back under black robes and drew a breath—a slow, rattling breath like the last gasp of a dying man—and the chill _shifted, _deepened_._ And I was back on that hill, in heat and fire and a sharp shove from my brother, in slow motion this time. I saw—really _saw_ what had happened and prayed this was some sick twist my own mind had put onto the memory as the flash of a Dracon beam stole the light from my brother's eyes even as I tumbled backwards and fell.

And fell. I accepted the darkness writhing at the edge of my vision as a way out, accepting it through the double-vision of fire and the _thing_ that brought forth that hated memory, accepted it and let go.

I heard voices, worried voices calling for someone called 'Harry'. Once 'Harry' answered, one of the voices turned on me while the others continued to pester 'Harry'. He sounded like shaggy-hair.

I ignored the voices and kept my eyes shut, thinking back through what I'd seen, wondering if it was true.

A loud snapping noise made me twitch a bit, but the accompanying scent—chocolate—put me at ease. Nothing dangerous—and I had other things to think about.

Ginny was next to me, calling my name over and over, and now the others seemed to be getting worried.

When a second presence—the one that the tiger had been a bit too aware of—settled next to me, I shifted away instinctively, and a low, gravely sort of voice spoke to me, a warm, calloused hand closing over my shoulder and giving a light shake. "Tsume. I know you can hear me."

I could hear him, at that, but there was still fire and death in my mind, the desperate wondering if it was _true._ Gods—I felt like I'd just lost him, like there'd been no time passed at all… flashes of my beak tearing a human-Controller's throat mixed with the blaze of Dracon and the flicker of fire in my mind.

I longed for the simplicity of the raven, or Marco's laughing voice in my head as he played tag with me as a seagull. My brother, hugging me after nightmares that now seemed so mild, holding me and saying he'd make it go away, that he'd protect me.

Like he had.

"Tsume," the voice was sharper, now, an edge of panic to it.

"Did she hit her head when she fell down?" Ginny's voice, my brain catalogued idly, latching on to the sounds as distractions from the deaths playing over and over in my head.

"I don't know," the hand on my shoulder tightened painfully and something snapped in my head.

The hurt was simple, easy to focus on. I needed _simple_. Morphs were simple—wolf was simple. Wolf. Tiger was loner and wolf could handle people better. Not all—can't all—not here, but maybe…

I felt something shifting in me, felt the calm mind of the wolf surfacing, felt my eyes changing as my sense of smell and hearing jumped up several notches. It was a trial, but I stopped it there, before the change could go too far, though my teeth felt a bit sharper than usual.

I let the wolf take most of the control, let her open my eyes and scan the compartment, felt her accept the scruffy, tired-looking man as _dominant_ and settle. The alpha was concerned for her, that was clear in his stance, so she accepted that he would protect her.

I noticed that his eyes widened when he saw my now-golden orbs, noticed that his were a soft amber-brown.

The hand loosened, jarring a shoulder I was certain had deep bruising, and a slight whimper escaped my throat as the wolf took that as punishment but didn't know what she'd done wrong.

I informed the wolf part of my current brain that it was not punishment before turning my attention back to the clearly agitated man.

"Are you all right?"

I opened my mouth to answer and discovered I'd altered my vocal cords, making my voice as rough as his, "No."

His eyes flickered over the others, "Out. All of you."

There were protests, but I curled in a ball, trying to get away from the sudden noise and the protests halted as the alpha repeated himself. The others left.

I relaxed slowly, moving up onto the bench with a tense grace I was not ordinarily possessing, and growled lightly when the dominant came too close, too fast. Alpha or not, the wolf and I were in agreement—stay back until we're sure of you. Not precisely _our_ alpha.

He stopped and moved to the other bench and I found myself relaxing slowly.

"What did you see?" he asked eventually.

"Brother."

A flash of puzzlement crossed amber eyes.

"He died. Protecting me."

"Is that when you became a werewolf?"

_What?_ "I'm not a werewolf," I stared at him for a moment, glad of the wolf's sense of smell—I couldn't smell Yeerk on this man. Some sort of beast, yes, but not Yeerk.

He straightened abruptly, "Your eyes—the way the wolf reacted to you—"

It clicked. "You are. Aren't you?"

He nodded, from what I could see, fully expecting me to admit to lycanthropy now.

"I'm… not. I have a wolf, but she's just a wolf. I got too overwhelmed—the memory—and I _needed_ simplicity. And she… was there. Calm, and quiet, and _simple_."

"A true wolf? You're an _Animagus?_"

The sheer incredulity was remarkable.

"Not… exactly. I touched her and there's an… affinity. She's there when I need her. I was going to reach for the tiger, but he'd've been wanting to rip everything apart for upsetting me, and the raven was just as freaked as I was… but the wolf knew I needed calm."

I hoped he'd come up with his own explanation due to my rather vague descriptions.

"You have familiars?" True surprise, this time, tinted with interest.

"Is that it?" I was glad to know that such things were possible.

"Yes, although it's unusual—especially for one so young. You must have a very open mind to be able to have more than one—you have to be able to understand the individual animal to a remarkable degree in order to bond one as a familiar, and to have three of such vastly different types is amazing." He eyed me oddly, "Why aren't any of them with you?"

I blinked, "Well, the tiger was part of a great cat rehabilitation center—they let people touch the cats after they've been sedated—and the raven and the wolf are back in America. I met them before my parents moved here." Was it really possible for me to have familiars? I mean, I noticed that sometimes I'd get thoughts that reminded me of any number of my different morphs, and that those partial morphs came incredibly easily—and altered my own attitude towards things, such as the tiger's tendency to word things in a very _exact_ and often scathing manner.

If so, all my morphs were likely also familiars, if distant ones, as I understood each of the creatures on a level only one who had _been_ them could. It would also explain how some of them would do things like provide calm when I needed it.

How… odd. Of course, it could also be what the others described—they all got the instincts and basic reactions of their animals.

"Hm. We should see about getting them brought to you," he offered. "People do better when in contact with their familiars."

I shook my head, "They're all better off where they are," I said firmly. I truly believed that, whether or not they were my familiars (and I was more and more inclined to believe 'not') they were happier where they were. By now, the tiger would be back in Siberia and the wolf—a large silver-gray Arctic female brought down for a breeding program—would have a den and pups, a whole pack to watch out for. The raven—should she still be alive—would be happier wild, as that was how she was born and raised.

At least now I had an explanation to sudden shifts in eye color and minor behavior alterations.

"I see," he eyed me for a moment, but didn't press the matter. "One more thing," he suddenly seemed nervous, "About my lycanthropy…"

"I don't know the first thing about werewolves past Muggle legends," I informed him.

"Ah. Well, suffice it to say, we are somewhat… discriminated against."

Slight irritation bubbled up in me, and the wolf began to echo that sentiment. "I see. Well, your secret is safe with me…" I sighed, letting the partial morph slip away and feeling my former turmoil return full-force with unexpected ferocity.

I sucked in a breath and almost reached for the wolf again, but the werewolf was suddenly in front of me, pressing a piece of chocolate into my hand and ordering me to eat.

I did as I was told and felt an odd warmth seep through my veins, relaxing tensed muscles and hazing my thoughts to a dull awareness that lacked in anything but calm and slow heat, a complete lack of pain or anxiety.

"Try to get some rest," I heard the alpha's voice and faintly realized I was still thinking in the wolf's terms.

"'Kay," I slurred, oddly pleased with the way my voice no longer sounded gravelly like the wolf's. I closed my eyes and let myself drift, settling into a pleasant fog of comfortable warmth.

_xxxx_

_Well, my train-and-Sorting part started to get a bit too long. So now it's just a train part, and it didn't pick up quite as much as I wanted it to. As for the end bit—medications of any serious kind have one of three reactions with me: none, reversed, or extreme. I'm speculating on a Calming Draught or something similar laced into wizarding chocolate—otherwise it couldn't count as a prescribed medication._

_The last time I took something for anxiety—which was accidental while at boarding school, a mislabeled med that was _supposed_ to be my ADD stuff—I was very… placid the rest of the day. Enough so that the staff were rather worried—something about acting as though I'd been given morphine. Not anything I'm planning to try again, ever. Although I did sleep pretty well that night…_

_Anyway, the next chapter should cover the Sorting and beginning of classes. Guess what House Tsume's in!_


	4. Chapter 4

_As an apology for this taking so long, I tried to make it a decent length. Still, I'll try to get the next one up sooner—and don't hesitate to make suggestions, even on already written chapters!_

_xxxx_

The next thing I knew, I was being gently but insistently shaken awake by a strong hand on my bruised shoulder. I hissed and jerked away, still a groggy from whatever was in the chocolate the werewolf had given me.

The hand immediately let go and I opened my eyes to look on the very werewolf that had idly crossed my mind in conjunction with drugged sweets and tried to sit up.

Oh. Bad idea. The groggy, slightly dizzy feel turned to a near-blackout and I decided it was better to crumple back against the seat than attempt to stand up or ask questions. Remind me never to eat chocolate from a teacher again.

"Tsume?"

Hm. That sounded like Ginny. I opened one eye to check—it _was_ Ginny. How about that?

"Are you OK?"

I blinked at her for a few moments, considering. I was dizzy and tired, not to mention in a haze of pleasant calm that should by all rights have freaked me out. Except I was too calm to be upset about anything, least of all the haze itself. I hummed noncommittally and closed my eyes.

"What's wrong with her?" Another voice—her brother Ron's if I remembered correctly—asked.

"I'm not sure," _that_ was the werewolf again, concern etched into his tone. "I think I should take her directly to the hospital wing—Harry, we can finish our conversation later."

Someone was picking me up, an easy movement that spoke of strength beyond that of a human. Someone was _picking me up?_ A faint tint of panic worked past the drugged haze in my mind and it occurred to me to be afraid. I tried to struggle, but my limbs didn't respond properly, though my apparent captor seemed to recognize the attempt.

"It's all right, I'm not going to hurt you."

Werewolf. All right, not some kind of humanoid Controller. The haze was enough to calm me again and I slipped back into unawareness.

The next time I woke up, I was being set down on something soft, an angry female voice ranting off to one side.

"… Terrible things, Dementors. I can't believe they're letting them near the children. Poor child is still in shock…"

I sensed movement and jerked away, making myself dizzy all over again, though it was notably less pronounced than before. I could think somewhat more clearly and reached out for the tiger without considering possible ramifications.

And it _hurt._ Gods, did it hurt—even the attempt, although I had the feeling of the tiger's mind as I reached out, a trace of feline rage—but the changes came too slow, too faint. Rather like I'd been trying to shift just my eyes or something. The pain grew worse as I tried to force the morph, unreasoning fear driving me on—I growled, a rough hint of the tiger's voice.

My growl heightened to a snarl when I heard someone's voice and spun, then curled up, hands going to my head as agony shot through my skull. I immediately stopped trying to force the morph, having no idea what had gone wrong, then tried to back out of it.

That hurt, too, so I stopped, keeping whatever unknown traces of tiger I'd managed to morph in my system.

"No, Poppy," I heard the werewolf's voice, sensed that he was holding the female—Poppy?—back. "One of her familiars is upset, you shouldn't go near her."

"She has a _familiar?_" The incredulity in that voice would have been almost insulting if it weren't for the fact that I wasn't sure if I believed it myself. "She's too young!"

"She has three, as far as I can tell," the tone was rather dry, "and two of them are large predators."

"Oh dear."

I had relaxed my muscles somewhat and it no longer hurt, so I dared to open my eyes and look for the voice's owner despite the feline irritation caressing my mind. She was not tall, her skin seemed several shades off human—then I realized I was seeing in the tiger's blue-tinted vision again. A glance at my hands revealed claws and the hair falling in my face was several shades lighter than I'd expected—my tiger was white and gray, not orange and black like Jake's. It would make us easy to tell apart in battle-morph, which is why I'd chosen him instead of the female in the next enclosure.

"We shall have to tell Albus about this, and the Heads of House…"

The werewolf noticed my gaze and seemed a bit startled for a moment. Guess my eyes had gone all the way tiger, emerald-edged gold and bright.

"Tsume," the address was a bit cautious, "this is Madame Pomfrey, the school nurse. Can she take a look at you?"

I opened my mouth with the intent to respond and heard her gasp—I ran my tongue over my teeth and found neither tongue nor teeth were entirely human. The rasp of cleaning hairs slid over small, sharp fangs and my other teeth were a bit pointier than normal. I shrugged it off until I found that throat and tongue would not work together to make an understandable reply.

I growled in frustration, shaking my head, and tried again more carefully.

"Madame Pomfrey—yesss. Your name?" I didn't want to have to wrap my tongue around too many words—cat tongues were so much less versatile than human tongues, and if it weren't for the fact that mine was only half-morphed (hair, but not flattened) I wouldn't have been able to speak at all.

"I never introduced myself?" Amber blinked and their owner gave a slightly sheepish shrug as the nurse ran her wand over me, muttering incantations. "Remus Lupin. I'm the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor."

"Well, you seem healthy enough, child, but I can't tell what you've done to yourself. Is this the doing of one of your… familiars?"

"Tiger," I agreed. Wow. I had to _think_ about saying that. The tip and back of a cat's tongue have no cleaning hairs, and the prickly things hadn't made their way _too_ far down my tongue or that 'g' would have been impossible. "Angry… won't let go."

I hoped they'd buy that excuse until I could figure out how to reverse the partial morph—undoubtedly I _could_, but it would hurt. If I was lucky, they'd leave me alone for long enough to pull it off without any prying eyes. Although finding out just what was keeping me from morphing _properly_ was going to be a priority as soon as I got out of here.

"Oh, dear…" she moved towards my head, a bit too quickly.

Tiger's instincts meshed with my own innate reaction; I twisted and snarled, snapping at the outstretched wand, a low growl rumbling in my throat.

She stepped back, lowering the wand, "It's all right, child, I won't hurt you."

I growled again, this time in frustration. Yes, I would have flinched away, but without the large and irate predator in the back of my mind, I would never have offered to harm the woman. I _really_ wanted to bite something. Come to think, I was getting rather hungry, which would further irritate the tiger—cats, no matter what their size, get downright _snippy_ when they're hungry.

Which, in this case, translated to _me_ getting downright snippy.

I glanced over at the adults—neither of them seemed to be sure of what to do with me. The werewolf—Professor Lupin—shrugged a bit, running a hand through graying hair.

"Too bad it wasn't the wolf," he murmured, and I was pretty sure I wasn't meant to hear. Which, of course, meant that the tiger's hearing was in at least partial effect, too.

I huffed agreement, turning my head to track the nurse as she moved away. "Tiger's… grumpy." I carefully sheathed the claws sprouting from my blunted fingertips and moved back towards the bed. I accepted the presence of the werewolf, so the tiger did, too. He was a little wary, but less wary of Lupin than the nurse.

For that matter, I was less wary of the werewolf than the nurse. Probably because my wolf had accepted him and my decision had been based on hers… but he hadn't done anything to make me distrust him afterward, either. Not that the nurse had, but the tiger didn't like anyone… I really needed to get out of this partial morph before I lost whatever remained of my mind.

I closed my eyes and tried to relax, focusing on trying to shift out _slowly_, feeling for _how_ it hurt. It came from without, that hurt, not within—meaning it was a problem caused by my surroundings, not a technical glitch or illness. What was causing it, though?

Or did it matter? I slipped a hand into my pocket, wrapping my fingers around the hilts of the dual wands, letting the already familiar chill warmth wash over me. And focused.

I had no idea if this would work, but I _needed_ to be able to do this, so I envisioned a bubble wrapped around my body, layered over my skin and clothes, protecting me from… whatever it was… and had the strangest sensation of pressure removed, as though something I'd forgotten I was carrying had been cut free.

The morph slipped away as easily as breath with a last echo of the tiger's rumble in my mind. A faint caw rasped across my awareness as I stretched out for the raven without actually morphing, testing with _feeling_ instead of _thought._

_Concern_ brushed over me, gentle and searching, the raven's sharp intelligence questioning my health. Her mind, her instincts pressed into mine and I felt the changes begin even though I had not begun them, my oldest morph… oldest _familiar_… made herself known as I accepted my magic. I tried to send back reassurance, the same way I communicated to animal minds while I was in morph, and felt a trace of disbelief and stubborn refusal.

I sighed and opened my eyes, realizing that the tiger had backed down so easily for the raven to take over once the dark bird had calmed herself enough to be of assistance. It seemed I was just going to have feathers down the back of my neck for a while, at least until I was out of this room.

I caught surprise in the werewolf's eyes as I glanced at him and recognized the odd shades and sharper awareness of shape and motion as the raven's vision and sighed. At least her vocal chords—despite the usual voice—were the most versatile of any of the morphs I had. I could form whole sentences without the use of my tongue, and the words could sound surprisingly melodic when I tried.

"I'm guessing my eyes are black," I murmured for Professor Lupin's ears.

He nodded, "Completely," he confirmed, "The whites are gone."

"Raven convinced Tiger it was her turn," I shifted, raised a hand to run fingers through my hair. Yup, more feathers mixed in, and a quick glance confirmed that it was black with iridescent green and blue highlights, just like a healthy raven's nape. I resisted the urge to preen said feathers and tilted my head a bit instead. "Tiger thought she was calm enough, now." Hm… interesting. My sense of smell was almost nothing, just like the bird's. I'd have to remember that the next time I was in a hospital, though this magical version didn't smell like disinfectants to begin with. "Where did the nurse go?"

The fact that I hadn't noticed her leave was… disturbing.

"She went to fetch the Headmaster and the Heads of House."

Should I ask? …Probably not. I sighed dejectedly and sent a mental frown in the direction of a very amused raven, wondering what there was to be amused about. Then I caught on to what she was so interested in and made a face.

"Raven wants me to preen your hair," I informed the werewolf, eyeing his tangled ruff. "You keep…" I ran my fingers between strands of hair and feather, a sight more carefully than the agitated ruffle his own hands had obviously inflicted upon his gray hair.

He blinked, a bit puzzled by the sudden change in topic, and reached up to touch his head, grimacing a bit when his fingertips encountered tangled mats.

A sound touched the edge of my hearing and I straightened, cocking my head in an unconscious reflection of the raven's listening pose. Four, no, five people, coming down the hall—wait. Six. The last's footsteps were barely audible, but the soft swish of cloth was just loud enough for enhanced hearing.

If I'd had a beak, I would have clacked it in annoyed apprehension. Six more? Why? I was not some… I trailed that thought off. I sometimes _was_ an animal like those to be looked at in a zoo.

I almost asked Raven to let Tiger come back, just for the intimidation properties, but I figured the raven's analytical mind was probably a better idea at the moment, not to mention that the black eyes and feathered hair would probably have a similar effect, especially if… I glanced down. My skin was always pale, milk-white a mark of my mixed heritage, and a bit of concentration was all it took to return it to that shade. Another idea, sparked by the bird's trickster tendencies, and my nails turned black and slightly pointed, a muted echo of the raven's talons.

Mr. Lupin—Professor, I corrected myself—raised an eyebrow at the changes, undoubtedly recognizing the intimidation tactic for what it was, especially when black bled into what had been a forest green shirt, tight enough to morph easily but not tight enough to be indecent.

OK, I _hadn't_ picked that last, anymore than the eyes or feathers, but Raven was having fun with this. I hated to spoil it for her.

And the six people came through the door, an _oldold_ man with long white hair and beard (and really, _really_ bad taste in color-coordination) and Madame Pomfrey leading. Following them were four others—Professor McGonagall among them.

"Tsume?" her startled exclamation made me turn my eyes towards her and she gasped, taken aback by black, white-less eyes.

"Ano… hai, Professor," I sighed.

I wasn't the only one—the other teachers, barring the _'oldold'_ man, as Raven thought of him, turned to look at her in surprise as well.

"You know this girl?" the short one asked in a squeaky voice—and by short, I mean even shorter than _me._ And I had to look up at most nine-year-olds.

"Yes, Tsume is the one whose family I had to… convince."

"The _American?_" the dark man asked, somewhat snidely. He was tall, but 'handsome' was not a word that would ever apply, though he certainly seemed distinguished, aside from an undercurrent of bitterness that undoubtedly had a story behind it.

"I think that was supposed to be an insult," I raised an eyebrow at the man, a slightly mocking smile on my lips as I thought of how the tiger would respond, then decided I would be better not _quite_ trying for that. The two would probably grate on each other's nerves… and Tiger was _really_ not someone I wanted to have growling in the back of my head all day. I smoothed my expression. "Professor Snape, I presume?"

An arched brow accompanied a dark scowl in response and the chuckle from the _oldold_ man did not improve the mood.

I winced. "Gomen nasai, Sensei. I should not speak so." _Not to someone like you, anyway. I doubt you will appreciate my sense of humor… and if you teach what I think you do, you _deserve_ to be respected._

A derisive caw echoed in the back of my mind.

_Oh, hush, you. I thought you'd like him—or at least his sense of style._

The raven did grudgingly subside at that—his style did appeal to her. Black was very much a raven's color.

His expression changed from irritation to mild surprise before smoothing over into what could only be called a poker-face. "No offense was taken," he informed, voice smoothly formal.

I gave a half-bow in his direction from where I was seated, noting expressions ranging from pleased surprise (the _oldold_ man—I was starting to enjoy that reference) to absolute shock from the other teachers before turning my attention to the group as a whole, glad of the raven's stabilizing effect of my anxiety. "If I may ask… who are all of you, and why are you here?"

Which led to a round of introductions. The _oldold_ man was the Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore. The short one was Filius Flintwick, Charms Professor and Head of Ravenclaw. The smiling woman in surprisingly tasteful green-and-purple robes was Pomona Sprout, Herbology Professor and Head of Hufflepuff. I already knew Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape, as I had suspected, was Potions Professor… and Head of Slytherin. I wasn't sure what was wrong with that, but the way Slytherin was said… it was rather like I would say 'Controller'.

It took a third prompting to get them off the 'familiars' kick and down to why they'd come. Apparently I'd missed the Sorting.

Go figure. Only I could manage to miss something _that_ important when it was supposed to be _my turn._

Professor Dumbledore held up a battered wizard's hat that I had ignored earlier and explained its purpose before having me put it on my head.

"Hm," a quiet voice murmured in my ear, "Difficult. Very difficult. Could you get that bird to quiet down?"

I snickered as Raven cawed indignantly, a chuffing laugh from the tiger and a snort form the wolf merging in with my own amusement. I blinked—wow. _That_ was confusing—if I started spending as much time in other morphs as I did with Raven, Wolf, and Tiger—I really needed to give them proper names—my mind could quickly become a very confusing place.

The Hat twitched, turning its attention out to the gathered Professors, "This girl has a zoo in her mind. I cannot Sort her—her familiars are interfering with my ability to read her as an individual."

"Hey—they are _not_ a zoo, Floppy," I tugged the hat down off my head by the brim and clamped its 'mouth' shut, half on Raven's whim. "Be nice or I won't let you talk."

A twinkle in the Headmaster's eyes said he found this all very entertaining, and the _DarkOne_—Wolf's naming—was mostly hiding a smirk. The other Heads of House seemed puzzled and the werewolf and nurse were a bit out of easy hearing range, though Professor Lupin probably heard anyway, if his hearing was anything like Wolf's.

"I see," _oldold_ Man seemed entirely too amused at this. "Well, we shall just have the Heads of House decide."

I saw McGonagall open her mouth, but _DarkOne_ had a considering gleam in his eye as he preempted that claim. "I'll take her."

Professor McGonagall's jaw went slack, nor was she the only one. Even Twinkles seemed surprised. (And that was entirely my own nickname for Professor Dumbledore—really, were eyes _supposed_ to do that?)

Professor Snape's smirk widened slightly, although I was uncertain as to whether that was due to surprising everyone or not.

Tiger chuffed approval and Raven clacked her beak, wolf giving a slightly put-upon whine. Two out of three wasn't bad, considering they'd only just started to be able to 'talk' in my head. The shock broke as the other three Heads started to argue that, each saying that they would be perfectly willing to take me, and the jumble of noise started to put me on edge, especially since Raven liked it no better than I. "Hey!"

Professor Snape was the only one who hadn't been adding to the racket, which gave him points in Wolf's book, as the sense I got from her perked up a bit. "I think I would like to go to Professor Snape's House." After that display, I just liked Professor Snape. He, at least, was quiet. Not that I didn't like Professor McGonagall, but if her house was half as loud as she was… and had Ginny's brothers in it… No. Just—no.

Professor Snape seemed just as surprised as the others at my quick acquiescence.

I glanced at him and, without thinking, sent _/I don't get it…/_ in directed thought-speak.

Snape's eyes widened slightly and flickered towards me.

Oops. Oh, well. Too late now. Might as well dig myself a little deeper. _/Why are all of you so surprised? Is there something wrong with your house… or is this all some kind of prejudice based on the actions of a few?/_

The Potion's professor quickly smoothed his expression, though he held my gaze for a brief moment, answering in kind. _/It is an old prejudice./_

I hid my shock, actually glad that others possessed the ability to project thoughts here. It would keep that from being questioned.

I turned my gaze away, glancing over the other teachers. _/I see./_ Aloud I decided to tell them what I thought of that. "To judge the many according to the actions of a few is both foolish and unjust. By shunning and persecuting, you propagate that which you seek to destroy. This must end. I will join Slytherin… it is time your world learns that 'dark' does not always mean 'evil'."

Any protests died at that. It was almost amusing, to find that I could lecture those untold years my senior… and there was approval in my new Head of House's eyes.

Eventually, Twinkles bowed his head slightly in acceptance—and Professor Snape once again suppressed amusement.

All right, now I _knew_ he was reading my mind. How was it that I had puzzled the wandmaker again? Ah, yes. Calm. Focus. And—there, a trace of impressed approval. _/Were you reading my mind on purpose or was I thinking too loud?/_

A trace of a smirk. All right, so he wasn't going to answer. Oh, well, I hadn't felt him rummaging around or anything, not like Jake had described after his brief stint as a Controller, so he was only skimming surface impressions. Nothing dangerous.

I glanced to Professor McGonagall. There was resigned acceptance on her face, a bit of wry self-disparagement. I had made my point and she, however reluctantly, agreed. Good. She was the first person I had met in this world, after all, and she taught a subject that I was extremely interested in. It wouldn't do to get on her bad side.

"Well," Professor Flintwick said in his squeaky voice, "I must say I'm sorry you won't be joining Ravenclaw. You certainly seem to have the mind for it. And the familiar," the last was added as an afterthought.

I gave a small smile, "Perhaps. But is not intelligence also a requirement of Slytherin? One cannot have cunning without thought. As for the other… I promise not to put my raven to any nefarious use."

The smirk on the _DarkOne_'s face broadened just a hair.

"I would have liked to have seen you in Gryffindor," Professor McGonagall admitted, smiling a bit, "but I won't begrudge Severus such an avid student—if you show half as much interest in his subject as you do mine, he should be glad to have you."

I saw the man quirk an eyebrow at me and smothered a grin. Really, he seemed like he just liked to be able to carry on a second conversation that no one else could hear. _/What? Transfiguration is interesting. Do you have any idea how many was there are to use it in a fight?/_

_/Thinking of fighting, are you?/_ There was a dry tinge to that question.

I blinked. I just… oh, crap. _/I never start it… Gomen, but I am accustomed to being picked on./_

"Child?"

I blinked again and shook my head, affecting a slightly dazed look. "Gomen ne, I'm very tired." Which was true, but it wasn't _sleepy_ tired, just tired. There would be nightmares tonight, if I slept at all.

"Well, best send you off to bed, then. We shall discuss the situation with your familiars another time, so long as they aren't a threat to any of the other students."

I winced a bit. Between me and my morphs… "I will strike out at anyone who awakens me unexpectedly unless I know them very well… and I tend to sprout claws." That last was only true sometimes, but I'd fallen asleep on a park-bench one afternoon and called out tiger-claws when I realized there was a strange man approaching with a look that _seriously_ freaked me out. I'd slashed him across the face with nails half-turned claws and bolted to the nearest uniform when he'd grabbed my upper arm. And now that I was more in contact with my familiars—I'd have to see if I could find out why—and they kept making little changes on their own when they felt like it, who knew?

Madame Pomfrey grimaced, speaking up from her place near the werewolf, "That's true. When I tried to look her over after Remus brought her in…" she cradled one hand in a subconscious gesture.

Had I landed a hit without noticing or was she remembering when I'd snapped at her?

"A private room, then," Professor Dumbledore stated, "Severus, is there one available near the dormitories or will she need to take up temporary residence elsewhere?"

"There is a small, unused set of rooms in the dungeons near mine. They will need to be cleaned and furnished, but they should serve well enough."

I perked up, "May I stay there tonight?"

Professor Snape seemed to see through the forced lightness and his brows drew down, just a hair.

Madame Pomfrey sighed, "There's nothing physically wrong with you, as far as I can tell. Of course, so long as one of you familiars is linking with you to that degree, it is difficult to tell."

I just bet. Mixed physiology is weird at the best of times.

"I will see to it that she returns here for a checkup in the morning," Professor Snape stated, apparently ignoring my existence for the moment.

She accepted that, a bit grudgingly, and the group _finally_ dispersed, allowing me to follow Professor Snape down to the dungeons. "I hope you are willing to sleep on the floor."

I checked the response I wanted to make and sighed instead, "Anything is better than in there."

"Oh?" His pace didn't let up at all and I had to jog to keep up. (Hey, I'm short.)

"I… dislike hospital settings."

No response. Well, I was pretty sure he was waiting for me to continue. "Look, can we talk about this when we get to wherever it is that we're going?" _/Or at least not out loud? It _is_ kind of private./_

"Very well."

Sheesh, he really _did_ remind me of Tiger. No sense of patience unless he was hunting. _/I'm guessing you already know about why I was in there. At least partially./_

Now his pace did slow a little, so I settled into a fast walk.

_/Dementors on the train./_

_/Aa. My brother, when I was little, just before I met Raven. There was a fire…/_ Unable to convince myself to break that terrible image down into words, I sent it in a mental flash of smoke and fire and confusion and death.

I barely heard the sharp hiss of indrawn breath.

_/It was the first time I ever had to stay in a hospital, and they remind me of it ever since. After those _creatures_ on the train… I'll have nightmares enough without that added on./_

He seemed disgruntled and suddenly stopped walking and turned to face a statue set into an alcove in the wall, "This is the entrance to your rooms. I'll send some House-Elves with your trunk and to do a basic cleaning. The password is 'Solaris'."

The statue, a thing rather reminiscent of a cross between a horse and a dragon with batlike wings and a scorpion tail, shook dust and cobwebs off itself and paced out away from the wall, revealing a opening behind where it stood.

I blinked. "Interesting," I turned my head to look at the statue, then shrugged. "Do you have a name?"

"It is merely animated stone," Professor Snape informed coolly. "It cannot speak and responds only to the password."

"Oh." I wasn't sure whether or not I should feel stupid, but considering I talk to non-magical carvings, too, I decided on 'not'. I'd have to name him.

I blushed and dodged into the room at an impatient gesture, the imposing figure sweeping in behind and casting a critical eye over the clearly long-unused rooms. He nodded once, sharply, and turned back to the 'door' before pausing. "I am not the best person to talk to about what you showed me," he said finally, "but if you cannot sleep, my rooms are behind the portrait of the winged snake down the hall. Knock and I will give you something to let you sleep without dreams tonight, and we will find someone who is better suited to speak with you tomorrow."

Hm. That was also interesting. And appreciated, "Arigatō, Sensei. I will remember that. Goodnight."

He nodded again and strode out without another word, likely uncomfortable with the situation. I was guessing the only reason he hadn't bolted sooner was the fact I didn't act like other eleven-year-old girls. I was aware of this, but couldn't change it and didn't try.

I did end up taking his offer later that night.

_xxxx_

_Believe it or not, barring the little Japanese additions, I really did use that kind of language when I was eleven. I still do, oft enough. I'm not entirely sure I like this chapter, so it's pending a re-write if I think of something better. However, I _will_ tell you if I rewrite it at the beginning of the next chapter. As it is, this one has run on long enough._

_As for deciding on Slytherin… I think Snape's just my favorite HP character. I considered Hufflepuff, due to just because, but Ravenclaw, though the _Hat_ probably would have picked it for her without interference, she needs to break out of the panic-reflex, and Ravenclaw didn't seem the type of place to force that. They'd have let her isolate with books, no questions asked. I had the panic-reaction based on my own, actually, but I recently got put on a med to sort out some chemical imbalance in my brain that I didn't know I had, and it's died down to just a bit of nervous tension instead of hyperventilating. I can function in classrooms full of people now! This makes life _so_ much easier._

_That was the deciding factor in having the 'familiars' thing be more than a cover story—I'm having their contact act on Tsume like my meds have been working on me, that is, making it possible for her to function without panic attacks. With the sudden atmosphere of magic and Tsume accepting and using it, as well as reciprocating the mental contact, they're very eager to be heard. Talk about confusing! If you had your head mostly to yourself one day and full of clamoring beasts the next, things would get a bit confusing, even if you had some familiarity with them on an individual and circumstance-oriented basis._


	5. Chapter 5

Despite the potion, which _did_ help, I woke early the next morning. Or, I thought it was early. It was kind of hard to tell, what with being in the dungeons and alone in a room furnished only with a few chairs and what looked like unused cauldrons of varying sizes and materials.

I squirmed out of the puffy green sleeping bag that the enthusiastic little creatures called 'house elves' had provided and dressed quickly, dragging a brush through my hair until the mats were worked out. I kept my hair long simply for the reason that it wouldn't do much of anything but lay flat no matter what I did with it, which doesn't look quite right with it short. Even tying it back only worked for so long before the hair-ties started to fall out and it needed to be redone.

Right when I was about to head out to start searching for the place I was supposed to eat, a sharp rap sounded on the wall near the statue.

I moved over to open it, murmuring the password. "Hai, Sensei?"

Professor Snape quirked an eyebrow at me, but didn't comment on the form of address. "I merely wished to ensure you were awake. I did promise to escort you to the Hospital Wing."

"Hai," I grimaced, "I'm ready."

"Pay attention in case you need to know how to get there on your own later."

"Hai, Sensei," I followed him, and this time he slowed so I could keep up without running. "Ano, Sensei? Is there a way to get the statue to respond to a non-verbal passcode?"

He glanced at me, "Considering you are both a Muggleborn and an American, that is a prudent precaution to take. I will speak to the headmaster."

"Arigatō gozaimasu," I relaxed a bit. I'd been wondering what to do about anyone just being able to walk in if they heard the password.

The rest of the trip passed in relative silence as I set about memorizing the path, which was slightly familiar from the night before.

It wasn't long before Snape-sensei was delivering me into the hands of Madame Pomfrey, and the checkup consisted of a waved wand and muttered charm. I had something bitter handed to me that I was then instructed to drink while my Head of House stood watching with an amused smirk.

I glowered at him and the smirk widened ever so slightly. _/You don't have to enjoy this so much,/_ I told him. _/What is she feeding me?/_

"That is a simple nutrient potion, designed as a vitamin and mineral supplement."

Madame Pomfrey gave him a surprised glance at the apparently volunteered information.

"That explains why it's so bitter."

"Indeed."

The nurse settled for not commenting on the strange by-play and finished her scans. "Well, you seem well enough, although you are showing signs of mild fatigue. Have you been sleeping well?"

I blinked at her. "Iie. I have always had trouble sleeping. Last night there were nightmares, but Snape-sensei gave me something to let me sleep. Most of the time, I just don't sleep. I feel much more rested than I usually do."

She glanced at the impassive expression on the man's face and nodded, "I see. Well, if you continue to have trouble sleeping, come see me. In the meantime, you need a good meal. Go on to breakfast, child."

"She is well, then?" Snape-sensei's voice was completely inflectionless, which secretly impressed me. It was _hard_ to keep tone that even.

"Well enough, Severus," the woman sighed, seeming to forget I was there. "She's a bit underweight and a nutrient potion every morning for a week or so would do her good, but there don't seem to be any lingering effects from either the Dementors or the chocolate last night."

He raised an eyebrow, "The chocolate?"

Madame Pomfrey grimaced a bit, "Yes. She appears to have a rather extreme reaction to the calming draught in it."

"I see. Come, Tsume. It is time for breakfast."

"Hai, Sensei," I set out to follow him, giving Madame Pomfrey a bit of an apologetic look for his abruptness. Like Tiger indeed.

A touch of curiosity brushed my mind and I traced it back to the source, a sleepy wolf. I grinned and let her put her senses out through me, smelling all sorts of interesting things. I got so absorbed in the wolf's sense of smell that I completely lost track of my surroundings.

A hand on my shoulder steering me away from a brush with a suit of armor snapped me out of it. I blushed.

"What could distract you to that extent?"

Ack. He sounded ever so slightly annoyed_._

"Wolf smells food."

"Ah."

Well, amused is better than annoyed, I reflected at his change in tone.

I blinked at the large doors, intrigued by the size… and the ceiling, which, if it weren't for the alterations of the wolf's vision, I was certain would have looked exactly like the sky above, and Snape pointed me towards a table. "That is the Slytherin table. There is nothing specifically stating that you cannot eat with other Houses, but the custom is to sit with your own House. I would suggest being careful; Slytherins, on the whole, have a poor view of anyone who is not pureblood."

"I see."

He handed me a sheet of parchment, "This is your class schedule. If you have any problems with finding your classrooms, I recommend asking the portraits or one of the castle ghosts. They are more reliable than some of the students."

I gave him a small smile, "Thank you, Sensei."

He gave a short nod and strode up to the teacher's table, ignoring the stares from the few other teachers already in the hall. There were very few students, which I was grateful for. I had no real desire to be swamped on my first day.

I settled at the end nearest the teachers' table, feeling marginally more comfortable with people I at least recognized nearby, and looked over my class schedule while I ate. A brighter flicker of curiosity brought a slight smile to my lips, especially when the irritated caw echoed in my mind when the raven looking through my eyes couldn't make sense of what was so interesting about lines on parchment.

_/Something amusing?/_ The rather dry query made me blink and glance up towards the teacher's table, where Snape's eyes met mine briefly.

I offered him a grin, which shocked the woman sitting near him. _/Raven./_

He turned back to his meal with a snort I more felt than heard.

_/You asked./_

He didn't respond, which didn't surprise me, but that in itself was enough to make me bet he was amused. I wondered if anyone had treated him kindly before, or like he was an actual person. His reactions to some of the things I did or said seemed to draw unusual amounts of shock from his colleagues.

My plate vanished after I finished eating and I shifted, folding my class schedule and pocketing it. _/May I be excused?/_

I was favored with a slightly raised eyebrow. _/You do not need to ask./_

_/Oh. Habit./_

Sensei actually turned his head to smirk at me. _/Be gone./_

I resisted the urge to stick my tongue out at him. From his current mood, I don't think he would have taken offense, but it wouldn't do to give the witch next to him an aneurism. Apparently the thought was strong enough for him to catch, because the smirk widened slightly.

I bolted before I could start laughing, glancing back as I made the door, just in time to see him shaking his head.

It ended up taking a little wolf aid to get back to my room, tracing my own scent back down the halls, and as I dodged the first waves of chattering students headed for breakfast, I wondered why Snape-sensei seemed so disliked. He was nice.

A little stiff and formal with people, and his voice was similar to my mothers in that it _sounded_ like he was angry all the time, but he wasn't a bad person. Then again, maybe I was just used to that kind of curtness. My few friends were all convinced my mother hated them, even when she would comment—behind their backs—that she liked them.

I murmured the password to the statue and slipped in for it to move back into place behind me, then stopped.

The room had been entirely transformed. The outer room, which I had slept in, had been redone with throw rugs and comfortable furniture in soft shades of blue, silver, and green. The sleeping bag was gone and a desk had been placed at a nice angle to the fireplace, an armchair balancing the look on the other side of the outer room. The inner room and bathroom had also been seen to—the cauldrons were gone, and my trunk was set at the foot of a simple, four-poster bed and a wardrobe placed underneath a window that shouldn't have existed.

My room was _underground._ Windows to the outside… looking out over the lake from something that looked like five or six stories up… I decided to stop thinking about that. I was weirded out enough without wondering about spatial orientation.

I showered and dressed quickly, wanting to have enough time to explore a bit before class, then slid my books into my backpack and crept out of my rooms, giving the statue an affectionate pat before I headed down the hall.

I explored only a little while searching for the various rooms I would be needing that day, using wolf senses to help me remember the way. That helped a lot, except for one little detail.

Moving staircases. If I was following a scent-trail… said trail would break where a staircase had moved. _Very_ irritating. Still, I found the Transfiguration classroom, which was where my first class was. Potions, the first class tomorrow, was in the dungeons, and I was sure that Snape-sensei's scent trail would be strong to there, as he went there every day. Since the only other places in the dungeons that he would frequent every day were his rooms and the Slytherin common room—which I still didn't know the location of—I could only take one wrong turn, as I knew where his rooms were.

I glanced at the clock and decided to continue my exploring some other time. Sure, I _could _ get some more wandering in, but if a staircase took an inconvenient turn, there was no telling how long it would take for me to find my way around and back. It was only about half an hour before class and getting lost now would be… inconvenient.

I slipped into the classroom and Professor McGonagall glanced up in surprise. Well, probably not too many first years were early for the first lesson.

"Good morning, Tsume," she said when she realized it was me. "How are you?"

I couldn't help making a face, "Apparently I'm underweight and showing signs of fatigue."

She blinked, then smiled a bit, "You had your checkup this morning, then?"

I nodded, "Honestly, I feel more rested than usual. Snape-sensei gave me a potion to help me sleep last night."

She nodded, smiling slightly, "Well, since you're early, you can help me set up for class. Here," she handed me a bundle of matchsticks, "Place one of those on each desk, and the rest place on that table," she indicated a small, rectangular table underneath the window.

I nodded and went to do as I was told, dropping my bag by the desk in the back corner. I like corners—they make me feel secure.

Professor McGonagall didn't comment on my choice, for which I was grateful. Just because I'm fairly outgoing one-on-one or in _small_ groups does not translate to the same in larger settings.

… Unless I'm in wasp-morph, but that's not something I really want to think about.

After I finished putting the matches where she wanted them, I settled into my chosen seat and pulled out my Potions text. I had already finished reading the Transfiguration book, which basically boiled down to concentration, force-of-will, and magical power. Not so different from morphing, really, except the 'magical power' bit. Although morphing _did_ take energy, at least some of which was bio-chemical, as morphing too many times in a row was downright exhausting.

I readjusted my focus, subtly shooing the wolf back out of my system and to her den and pups, then reached out for one I hadn't used in quite some time, wondering if it would work.

There was a brief brush against something hot and angry that slid away like quicksilver, but my vision had altered. The _morph_ was there, but the _mind_ was not. Though there were instincts, knotting in the back of my head.

Tiger chuffed and I released the partial-morph and let him come forward, then summarily ignored him and whatever changes he was wreaking on my body and went back to my Potions book. It wasn't until I felt an ear _turn_ near the top of my head that I registered just how much fun the furball was having.

I automatically opened my mouth to protest, and the sound I made was a coughing growl before I managed to push said furball back a ways. As nice as it was to know there were several creatures out there that cared about me no matter what, having them be able to change me when _they_ felt like it could be a problem. Especially if they started pulling stunts like that during class.

I blinked and refocused on my surroundings, noticing a worried Professor half-crouched near me. Hm… at least she had the good sense not to loom. Probably got that from her fuzzy side.

"Are you all right, Tsume?" she asked gently, now sure she had my attention.

I flicked one of my still-tiger ears rather irritably, "Tiger got a bit carried away. I'm fine, but he apparently wants me to keep the ears and such…" I sighed and scratched at one of them.

The professor stood, then, and shook her head. "If you can convince him otherwise before class starts, please do so. If not, try not to have any drastic changes _during_ class that would distract the other students."

I nodded and turned back to my internal argument with a large beastie. Although I _could_ force the morph with or without his approval… well, I was just starting to really get to know my familiars. And honestly, this wasn't a life-or-death situation. Besides, he was _so_ curious, the big kitty-cat.

"Can I let him stay? He _really_ wants to…" I had the impression of the tiger-version of 'puppy eyes' lurking in the back of my mind and it was getting rather difficult to try the firm 'no'. I mean, really, if a six-hundred pound predator was willing to plead like that…

Professor McGonagall sighed, shaking her head with a small smile. "… Try not to distract the class too much."

"Thank you!" I resisted the catlike impulse to butt my head against hers and satisfied Tiger's desire for brief contact with a hug instead.

She was startled by the action, but smiled and patted my shoulder before returning to her desk.

I examined the claws tipping my fingers and pulled out a fountain pen—now I was very grateful for the calligraphy class 'Kaa-san had insisted on when my child-scrawls were illegible even to the teachers—seeing if I could hold it properly with them. The fountain pen was from the class I'd taken—it lasted longer and was far more efficient than a quill, so I wasn't about to trade it out for one.

Then the door opened and the first of the nervous, breathless other students skittered in.

I tilted my head slightly, catching the scents coming through the door—cats, owls, ink… some kind of perfume that made me want to sneeze at smelling it so strongly… I flattened my ears down into my hair, flexing my claws.

Tiger growled in the back of my mind and I felt my spine shift, and I knew I was now sporting a cat's flexible back… which actually made sitting in the hard chair much more comfortable, come to think. Although… _/Stop that. You heard what the Professor said. I can't turn into a tiger in the middle of class./_

Somewhat to my surprise, Tiger subsided, rumbling apologetically in the back of my mind.

One who smelled lightly of lilacs and cat dropped down in the desk next to me, eying my house colors warily.

I tilted my head at her, puzzled at the reaction from one who hadn't been there more than a night. "I'm Tsume," I informed the wary Ravenclaw, "Hajimete o-me ni kakarimasu."

The blatantly confused look I got in response made me smile a bit, "Gomen ne, it means something like 'nice to meet you'."

"Karen," the girl said shortly.

I pricked my ears up on instinct in response to the slightly hostile tone, tilting my head slightly.

She blinked, stared, and blinked again. "Wha… I don't remember seeing you at the feast last night."

"I had a run-in with the Dementors and a _very_ bad reaction… Lupin-san gave us chocolate and something in it made me sick. I didn't wake up until well after the Sorting."

"Really?" Her wary hostility was fading, "How did you get Sorted, then?"

"Snape-sensei asked that I be placed in his House."

"It wasn't the Hat, then?" that seemed to calm the last of her uneasiness. "What are you, anyway? I mean, not to be rude, but…"

"The Hat said it couldn't read me as an individual. And I'm human," I gave a smile I was sure had a little fang in it, "Mostly. I have familiars that like to make their presence known perhaps more than strictly necessary, though. Tiger is out to play."

Her curiosity turned into something very like shock, "You have a familiar? A _tiger_ familiar? But that's—"

And Professor McGonagall called the class to order, leaving me wondering what Karen had been going to say.

The lesson went remarkably smoothly, for the most part. I had a simple embroidery needle after my first try at Transfiguring the match, though, and that brought slightly unwanted attention in my direction. Really, though, it wasn't very different from morphing, except that I had to focus on the object and energy required, whereas with morphing I only had to picture the transformation in the order I wanted it to happen or focus on a specific trait. The DNA absorbed and held by the nano-machines in my bloodstream laid out the entire template for the animal's physical makeup and whatever energy the transformation needed was taken directly from my system, biochemically.

So Transfiguring was a bit more awkward and took more focus, but not really so much more. I had a needle in moments. And that… surprised the Head of Gryffindor. "Tsume, if you would stay after class…"

"Hai, Professor," I sighed, though I had been hoping to avoid such an occurrence.

_xxxx_

It wasn't as bad as I had expected. She simply tested me—saw what I could and couldn't do. I could change anything she asked me to, Transfiguring it from one form to another, even to a semblance of life from non-living objects. But I couldn't do what she called 'Switching Spells', or anything else that wasn't direct transfiguration. I had no basis for comparison.

And so, she decided that I would not be in her first year class—all the first years learned were the basics of actual Transfiguration.

Instead, she bumped me up to her fourth-year class, which was working on Switching Spells as the first thing, and was also during my former free-period.

Which meant I wouldn't have the same free-period as my other classmates, but…

I'd survive.

I bowed slightly as she dismissed me, giving me a note for the Herbology Professor. "Thank you, Professor McGonagall." She _had_ taken time out of her day to see to it that I learned something I needed to learn—no matter that it was a minor inconvenience to me. And I _was_ grateful for the attention.

_xxxx_

I slipped into Herbology well after the class had started and, while I doubted I was the only one to be late (first-day-lost-in-the-castle-syndrome), I was by far the latest. Professor Sprout, the Hufflepuff Head of House, frowned at me.

I bowed apologetically and handed her my note, hiding my amusement that a professor with the name of 'Sprout' just _happened_ to teach Herbology. Perhaps the talent ran in families?

Well, no matter. She nodded to me and sent me to a table next to a Slytherin who introduced himself as Dane Lockwing and was 'properly' impressed by my Tiger familiar, who had not yet retreated from his interest in my day.

I attempted to pay attention to the lesson instead of the varying 'hums' of innate magic in the plants in Greenhouse One, but it was so _easy_ to get lost in the gentle whisper from the plant on the table in front of me…

I wrenched my attention back to the teacher, sending a mental frown at the tiger in the back of my mind as he attempted to get me to return to the plant.

So. The familiars had something to do with this ability to sense magic—at least in plants and wands. I hadn't tested it on animals and hadn't noticed anything with humans…

Ack. Back to the lesson, Tsume!

Easier said than done, but I forced myself to pay attention nonetheless.

Our first assignment was on the plants carefully potted on each table—a small broad-leaved plant that emitted gold and silver sparks from the base of silvery green, deeply lobed leaves. They were flowering, purple tube-blossoms decorating the flower-spikes sticking up from the main-body of the plant showering more of the gold and silver sparks, which fortunately did not burn. Absolutely gorgeous—even more so than most _acanthus_* I'd seen.

I was amused to note the name of the plant was _acanthus igniculus_. Essentially 'Spark Plant'. Wizards really had no creativity when it came to naming things—but, it did fit.

We were set to examining the plants, told to label all the parts according to the textbook. Much to my relief, the textbook proper names were the same as the ones from my Elementary School texts, which meant I already knew most of them from my Science classes. The section on Biology almost always started out with plants, after all.

Although there were additional names for plant-parts I'd never have found on a non-magical plant, like '_emicatum'_ which apparently was a common part on plants that emitted sparks or similar forms of light.

I used my advantage to name most things from memory, sketching out the plant as I'd been instructed and labeling the parts as I went. I thanked whatever deity looking out for me that I inherited my birthmother's ability in Art, and completed the assignment well ahead of the rest of the Slytherin portion of the class, though several of the Ravenclaws finished around the same time I did—probably studied ahead or were also born to Muggles and had previous schooling.

I caught that thought and frowned, the green-rimmed gold of my Tiger eyes making the expression much more foreboding than usual. 'Muggles' I shouldn't have used that word—it sounded derogatory, and Wizards obviously thought themselves so superior that they barely even knew what the 'Muggle' world was up to. Certainly they didn't realize that those 'inferior' people were more than capable of destroying the entire world with the push of a button.

'Mundanes' perhaps? No, that made them sound uninteresting. 'Normals' was slightly better, and there certainly were more of them than there were Wizards and Witches! 'Normals' then.

Decision made, I settled back to check over my work—I may not have been in Ravenclaw, but Professor Flintwick had wanted me there, so I intended to do him proud. I wasn't sure how I could make Professor Sprout proud, but doing well in her class couldn't hurt…

So I would put in all the effort I could. I rather felt like I belonged in every house _but_ mine at that time, but then… Animorph, much? Spy, secret life, secret _war…_

Definitely qualified for Slytherin in the whole 'keeping secrets' respect.

Class was over before I knew it, and Professor Sprout didn't question the quality or speed of my work. Good—not unusual, then. And the Ravenclaws had done at least as well, I was fairly certain.

Tiger decided he was bored with my day and retreated from my mind to hunt, but I held the partial-morph, appreciative of the boost to my senses, and walked next to Dane as we headed for lunch.

Corrected him once, when he was about to take a wrong turn, acutely aware of the trail of Slytherins and Ravenclaws behind us.

"How do you know your way already?" he complained, when I turned out to be right.

I hid a smirk, "Tigers have a good sense of smell."

He opened his mouth, hesitated, and closed it. I resisted the urge to reach for his mind to find out what he had been going to ask, and blinked. Could I even do that?

… Sensei could.

So…

Hesitantly, I reached out, just aiming to brush lightly for surface thoughts.

And was suddenly aware of his burning curiosity on how I had gotten such a powerful familiar and the checking influence of being taught never to ask such a thing. A pureblood society rule.

Well, I certainly wasn't going to answer, not after Sensei's warning about Slytherin disdain for 'Muggleborns'. Keeping secrets, I could do.

I pulled back, closing off the awareness of Dane's thoughts firmly, resolving only to do that when absolutely necessary. The moment of awkward silence passed as Dane fumbled up a question on my knowledge of plants, and I answered with careful awareness of what _not_ to say.

"I have had previous schooling on some plants. Main parts carry over."

This immediately turned into a bid for being my permanent partner in Herbology—a very Slytherin move—and I agreed, somewhat amused. I could use the ally, if not 'friend'.

The only true friends I had were the other Animorphs and Ax. And they… were far away. I needed to write them. Soon.

They needed to know everything. I could be an advantage—and if they called, I would answer, fully trained or not.

_xxxx_

_acanthus*_-- more commonly known as 'Bear's Breeches', it is the genus name for plants of the family 'Acanthaceae'. The leaves are deeply lobed, often spiny, and arranged in opposite pairs along the twigs. Most members of this family are perennials and many species are used as ornamentals and can live for several decades. As they _are_ often used as ornamentals, there are plenty of pictures floating about the 'net. Look it up! ^_^

_So, yes. My birthmother is an artist—and I really did inherit her talent, for which I am rediculously grateful. I enjoy painting, sketching, and oil pastels. I am best, however, with sketching, both charcoal and pencil, and am considering swiping my Dad's scanner to put up some of my work on Deviantart. Unfortunetly, the parents happen to be in Alaska for at least five more weeks and the scanner went with. So that's out for now._

_This chapter's a bit ramble-y, I grant you, but I couldn't help it. I wanted it to feel like half a schoolday, and some of it will be referred to later on. And schooldays… they do tend to feel awfully ramble-y to me. Especially since if I didn't distract myself—at least before the anxiety meds—I'd panic in classroom situations. Half the time I'd keep tabs on my pulse and breathing rates so I wouldn't hyperventillate—yeah. It was bad._

_So, there we have it—the next chapter. I would have gotten it out earlier… but then my Dad was in and out of the hospital for a while, and a friend of mine died in a car crash, and his girlfriend is a close friend of mine and… suffice it to say, they'd been together for quite some time, living together for a good portion of it… her words 'He was the rock I stood on…' We've been keeping an eye on her, and she's doing better, now, but for quite a while, I just didn't have the heart to write._

_But I'm trying to get back into it. If any of you read any of my other stories, I'm working on getting something up for all of them._


	6. Chapter 6

_Chapter 6_

Flying lessons were a disaster. Not that I'm afraid of heights—between Raven and the other bird-morphs in my arsenal, if I was high enough for a fall to be deadly, I was high enough to have wings before I hit the ground—but the broom's magic and mine just _didn't_ mix.

Oh, it twitched when I said 'up', as instructed, which was better than some of the others' reactions, but… it 'grated' on my senses, rather like some of the incompatible wands had.

The broom responded as it had been programmed—spelled—to, but sluggishly, as though resisting at every move.

I _hated_ it.

Quietly.

Madame Hooch didn't seem to think I was having unusual trouble, so I let it alone. Maybe it was just the broom, after all—the school things did seem kind of old and worn. But still, I had other ways to fly. I could catch a thermal and soar…

Who needed brooms?

And as if that weren't enough, the Gryffindors were an absolute nightmare.

They were nice enough to each other, but… it was as if they'd been trained to discriminate. So early! And Madame Hooch was subtly leaning in their direction of every argument. Oh, not obviously, but… subtlety was not lost on me.

Nor the other Slytherins, I noted. Already the bitterness began.

So. This was going to be harder than I thought.

At least it was the last lesson of the day.

_xxxx_

All right, maybe it being the last lesson of the day wasn't a good thing after all. There were _far_ too many people who were curious about me.

True, there was reason. From time to time I took on various animal characteristics, I had been skipped ahead three years in Transfiguration, and all the teachers were watching me. Naturally the other students would be curious.

There were rumors, I had heard them—speaking behind someone's back didn't work as well when someone had the hearing of one of my familiars. I knew what was being said, just as I knew there was nothing I could do about it. The other students would talk, that was that.

But most of them at least left me alone, a little wary, a little suspicious.

Dane did not, but nor did he pester for answers, Pureblood that he was.

I could handle that, he was just one. But there were others in my House who would not be so discreet. Pureblood or not. Namely, the ones higher on the social ladder—the ones who did not believe the 'unspoken society rules' applied to them.

If the rumor was to be believed, a certain Draco Malfoy to be specific.

I would have made a mental note to avoid him, but I didn't know what he looked like.

Retreating to my rooms was out of the question with so many in the halls. I didn't want _anyone_ to know where they were. Not yet.

Snape–sensei was all right, not because he was a teacher, but because I had touched the edges of his mind. He wasn't a bad person—and he _wasn't_ a Controller.

From what I heard from the others, it was _likely_ that no magic-users were Controllers. But I wasn't going to risk lives on 'likely'. Though I had nothing in my room that would immediately identify me as an Animorph, anyone who could read minds might see it in my dreams.

I needed to ask Sensei if there was a more reliable way of blocking someone out.

But now was not the time. Walking through the halls with curious gazes following me, I made my way down to the dungeons, looking for the Slytherin common room.

It actually wasn't hard to find, despite the fact that it looked almost like any other section of wall. The floor tiles were slightly more worn there, and there was a smooth spot on the wall, where many hands had touched it.

It wasn't until _after_ I'd entered the room that I realized it might not be the best idea. Draco Malfoy was in my House.

_xxxx_

Corners may make me feel secure, but I dislike the feeling that most people refer to as 'cornered'.

And right then, I was definitely feeling cornered. Malfoy was a third year—and a great deal taller than I was. He also had this air about him, this feeling that he thought himself superior to everyone else.

And he wanted me to eat dinner with him.

My first impulse was to say no—but I checked myself. While I already slightly disliked him, he was very highly regarded in my House and it couldn't hurt my standing to seen with him. Or rather, it couldn't hurt my standing within Slytherin.

It very well might hurt my standing within the school at large. But I was hoping that that was ground that could be made up. And I could not fulfill my self-assigned mission of improving my House's reputation without being seen as one of them. Which meant I could not be the House outcast.

I hid my reluctance, and accepted the borderline-command to sit with Draco Malfoy for dinner.

_xxxx_

After I got to my rooms that night, I had to admit—if only to myself—the dinner with Malfoy hadn't actually been all that bad. He'd been a perfect gentleman, to me anyway. He hadn't been so kind to some of the Gryffindors—specifically Harry—but I managed to keep him from more than one snide comment.

A flash of gold in the eye and subtly barbed comment made him realize that I had a worse reaction to the Dementors than Harry, and so harassing the Gryffindor about it also degraded me.

He apologized—to me—and set about ignoring Harry and his friends for the rest of the night.

So, really, it hadn't been too bad. But still, it was an experience I'd rather not have to repeat—but I wasn't getting too hopeful on that one. It may very well have just become a nightly ritual.

_xxxx_

The remainder of the week passed quickly, with few interruptions by my three familiars, and classes ranged from ridiculously easy (the first-year Transfiguration class and Herbology) to challenging but fun (Potions and Defense) to abysmal (Flying and Charms).

Ok, so Charms wasn't _that_ bad. Really. Just that the feather had repeatedly lifted six inches off the desk before bursting into flames.

_Flames._ From a _levitation charm._

Poor Professor Flintwick didn't know quite what to do with me—the wand movement was correct, as was my pronunciation of the spell. The spell itself just… stalls and flares, somehow, after it starts, and I lose control.

I even tried switching to the Thestral wand, thinking maybe the Phoenix feather was why it kept flaring, but the same thing happened.

I sighed and dropped my head to the desk, not at all pleased by my failure. On the up-side, I could always levitate a Taxxon. Then it's be a _good_ thing for it to burst into flames. Did I mention I _really_ don't like Taxxons?

At the end of class, Professor Flintwick gave me extra homework—_joy_—and told me to come to him if I continued having trouble with the charm.

I gave a somewhat curt bow of acceptance and headed out to the free period in a foul mood.

_xxxx_

Free period was thankfully uneventful. Dane sat next to me in the Common Room, but noticed my mood and tactfully avoided the morning's subjects, instead making small talk about the weather and general plans for the weekend.

I hummed noncommittally when he asked what I was going to do, "Probably homework," I admitted. "Professor Flintwick gave me extra."

I was less annoyed about it since having some time to cool off. He'd only done it with the intent of helping me, after all. That didn't make the prospect any more enjoyable, but the irritation was now focused more on my inability than the Professor. It wasn't _Flintwick's_ fault I was having such trouble.

Then again, I wasn't the only one that had lit a feather on fire. I was just the only one who'd done it _every single time._

"At least you got your feather off the table," Dane pointed out, "Half the class didn't manage that."

Huh. All right, had _not_ noticed that. … I needed to pay more attention to my surroundings, even while frustrated. Being caught off-guard could be a death-sentence, were I still with the other Animorphs or even just in London. It was a low-activity area, not a _no-_activity area. And being caught morphing would be… catastrophic.

I set that thought aside as quickly as it had come, searching for the correct response to the offered consolation. "Thanks, Dane. But I still don't understand why it flames at six inches."

"This period's free," he observed, "We could go to the library and look up the basis for the spell."

We? I was momentarily baffled by that, but decided to accept the implied offer. "That's what Professor Flintwick assigned extra," I managed a small smile, "All right, lets. Thanks."

He shrugged good-naturedly. "Mine stalls at a foot," he confessed. "I was thinking about going anyway—yours was just so much more… _attention catching_ than mine."

I surprised myself with a soft laugh, "Well, then. Do we know where the Library is?"

Dane shook his head, "We can ask one of the older students."

I considered that. "Sensei recommended the portraits or ghosts as slightly more reliable guides."

Dane blinked, tilting his head in obvious confusion. "Sensee?"

"Snape-sensei," I emphasized the pronunciation, "Forgive me, the term is Japanese. It is a respectful way of addressing a teacher or someone of similar station. Sensei has not protested it."

"Japanese?" Dane blinked, "Why _Japanese?_"

"It is a language I have put forth some effort studying. It is also a language that is very… _influential_ in the business world." I had taken the time to look up my birth-mother's homeland's magical culture, which was substantially different from the European one. However, their economic standing was similar in both Normal and Magical worlds.

Dane nodded, "You have a point. If the Professor doesn't mind, then I guess it's fine."

I dipped my head slightly in acknowledgement of the statement and stood. "Well. To the Library?"

"To the Library," Dane agreed, mimicking my movement. "Who are we going to ask for directions?"

I glanced around the room and settled on the House ghost. "Why not the Baron?"

Dane managed to look both impressed and appalled. "You're voluntarily going to approach the _Bloody_ _Baron?_"

"He's our House ghost, and he's here." I pointed out, managing to hide my amusement at his poorly-hidden apprehension. "Why not?"

_xxxx_

The Baron responded to my polite inquiry by saying "Follow me," in a voice that sounded like it had been left unused for far too long, then drifted through the hidden door. He proved to be quite the thoughtful guide, leading Dane and me to the Library and informing us that if we needed aid in getting to the Great Hall for lunch, there was another ghost in the far corner of the Library that would be willing to help out.

I bowed slightly, "Thank you, Baron."

Dane quickly mimicked my thanks and the Baron nodded once. "You are welcome."

I glanced around at the largely unlabeled shelves and shook my head before making my way up to the Librarian's desk, Dane trailing along slightly off to one side. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then shut it again without a word, and I settled into something like American military parade-rest, waiting for the woman behind the desk to acknowledge my presence.

She finished writing something and dropped her quill in an inkwell with a soft 'clink'. "Yes?"

"Pardon, Ma'am, but would you please tell me where I can find a book with information on the levitation charm '_Wingardium_ _Leviosa'_?" I had no doubt that she knew where they were.

She eyed me over her spectacles for several seconds, the suspicious, pinched expression fading. "Of course, dear," she said, gesturing to a series of shelves to one side. "There are several books with that information, but the one with the most complete explanation of the spell is called Levitation and Floating, by Bartholemue Grudge. It's on the fourth shelf in the first row, second one down."

I bowed slightly, "Thank you, Ma'am."

"Will you be checking it out today?"

I nodded, "I believe so, Ma'am. I have been having… exceptional trouble with that charm."

The woman actually smiled, "In that case, I'll simply summon it," she suited words with a gesture and the book came soaring to the desk, "You'll have to sign here—do be careful not to drip. It will be due back in two weeks."

I smiled, "Thank you. I'm sorry, but I don't know your name, Ma'am. I'm Tsume."

"You may call me Madame Pince, Tsume. Take good care of that book, now."

I nodded, "Yes, Ma'am!"

She smiled again, "Go on, now, off with the both of you!"

I smiled back and offered a slight bow before doing as instructed and heading out of the Library, intending to go back to the Common Room, now that I was armed with the book.

Dane trailed along after me and once we were halfway down the hall to the first staircase he turned on me. "How did you _do_ that? I've heard she's impossible to please and hates all the students on principle!"

I grinned, "Oh, Dane, it's amazing how far a little genuine regard for other people will get you. Manners also don't hurt."

He shook his head, "Well, I just think you've got a magical ability to get people to like you."

Huh. That was a possibility I hadn't considered. I shook my head, "Whether or not I do, let's go see what this book has to say about our troubles, hmm?"

_xxxx_

The book actually had quite a bit to say about our problem—the spell apparently had a natural 'stall point' height that varied depending on how much power was initially put into it. If more power was forced into the spell, it would maintain its height as opposed to dropping the item, as most of the students had done. Thus the feathers.

If even _more_ power was forced into the spell, it would usually resume its upward climb, occasionally something else would happen.

So apparently my attempts had simply forced too much power at once for the spell to handle based on the starting point I had given it, the excess energy transferred into heat, and the feather lit on fire, feathers being extremely flammable.

Meaning it would take a great deal more to light a Taxxon on fire. Pity. Maybe I should just learn a fire spell?

"So. Start out with more power in the spell."

Dane nodded, "That's what it seems like."

"How, exactly, am I going to tell how much power I'm putting into it?"

Dane blinked, then shook his head. "I'll write Father and see if there's anything that can help with that."

_xxxx_

_Hi! I live. And I finally got something up for this one. Sorry for the looooong delay. I'll try not to let it stretch quite so much next time. 'Ta!_


	7. Chapter 7

_Chapter 7_

After lunch was Potions, which went… well, _disconcertingly._ Sensei did the same thing that Madame Hooch had, only in the opposite direction and somewhat less subtly. Which explained why most of the other students, aside from the ones in my own House, disliked him.

Still, I could understand why he did it—likely in an attempt to get those of my own House to trust him more, as well as to 'balance out' the treatment by the majority of the teachers.

Not the Heads of House, for the most part. McGonagall was strict, true, but deliberately fair. Probably trying to lead by example, there, but the members of her House were too… _straightforward_ to notice that subtle a hint. Flintwick was a lot less strict, but treated everyone the same, which was probably due to having dealt with prejudice in his youth, if not continued prejudice outside the school now. Sprout was fairly easygoing, so far, at any rate. She was a _hair_ more strict with the Slytherins, but the feeling behind it was more pre-empting 'acting out' in class than actual dislike of the students from my House.

Sensei, though… the deliberately non-subtle favoring—and it _was_ deliberate—of Slytherins was a subtle barb to Hooch and the other teachers like her, though most of those teachers were not readily encountered by First-Years save for during lunch, as those classes didn't become available until _third_ year.

I could understand it, but I still didn't like it. I didn't like that he felt that was the only way to get his own students to trust him. I liked it even less that he very well might be _right._

I suppressed a sigh and got to work on my Sleep-Aid potion, the instructions carefully laid out on the board. Soon enough, I was completely absorbed in the challenge of getting it just right.

_xxxx_

Defense came after Potions, which had ended with only one boiled-over potion, though how it had been managed was beyond me. A Gryffindor named Garwin Addicus had apparently added the right ingredient at the wrong time, sending his (less than 1/3 full) cauldron bubbling over. The mixture had scored the floor. _Scary._

Still, Defense turned out to be quite interesting. We went over a few of the less-kind jinxes and their counters (no actual practice involved) and were given reading furthering that after being told the next lesson would be a practical.

Professor Lupin did tend to lean _slightly_ towards the Gryffindors' side of arguments, but it was clear he wasn't doing it consciously—which actually might have made it worse. It showed just how ingrained it was in this society to be distrustful of anyone with Slytherin House associated with them that even _children_ were persecuted.

How could _children_ be seen as evil?

_xxxx_

That thought stuck with me the entire remainder of the day and I mused over it during dinner—which, once again, had been shared with Malfoy. Who did _not_ harass the Gryffindors in my presence after a disapproving scowl when he started something.

I sighed slightly as I settled at the table next to the 'Prince of Slytherin'. "Draco…"

He looked in my direction questioningly.

"May I speak with you after dinner?"

Puzzled, he nodded, "Of course."

_xxxx_

I wasn't quite sure what I was going to say to him when 'after dinner' actually came. I glanced around the hall, seeing that the only people around were too far away to hear, and suppressed the urge to sigh. It _had_ to be said, and no one else had the backbone to say it.

"Draco," I looked him square in the eye, "You are seen as the House… _Paragon,_ more-or-less. The example of all that we are, all that we believe we should be. I do not know why this is so, only that it is."

He made a slight 'go on' gesture, though he was frowning.

"Because of this, when _you_ are the one to initiate… _disagreements_, it reflects poorly on our House. I do not say this to offend, but to caution—you are far from the only one in the house that does such thing, and even further from the only one in the school. Nevertheless, because you are so well-known, it gives those teachers that are clearly prejudiced against Slytherin a sense of justification in their actions against us. _Especially_ when the disagreements are with Harry Potter and his friends, as they are just as closely observed as you yourself are."

He looked about to protest, and I held up a hand to forestall him, surprised when it actually _worked._ "It does not matter how deserved some of that mockery might be. Not only that, but should they ever choose to ignore you rather than respond, it would make you look like a fool."

There was indignation in his eyes, but he controlled his temper with obvious effort, actually giving my words some thought.

"You could be right," he admitted grudgingly after several moments.

"All I ask is that you consider it," I smiled slightly, bowing, "Thank you for listening to me."

He gave a short nod, and I took that as dismissal, leaving him to his thoughts.

_xxxx_

That night, Sensei strode into the Common Room and called my name.

I blinked, glanced at Dane (who made a 'shoo' gesture), and stood, shutting my Defense book and tucking it into my backpack before slinging one of the straps over my shoulder.

"Come," he ordered.

I followed meekly, "Hai, Sensei."

"The Headmaster wishes to see you," Sensei informed.

I sighed, nodding. "I see."

"I have not informed him of your natural Legilemency," he added, "but it could be prudent to do so."

"Legilemency?" I asked, puzzled.

"The ability to project your thoughts is a branch of mind-magic, part of the skill known as Legilemency. Are you capable of reading minds?"

I blinked. "Ano… when I try? But I don't like to, and I have to actually _try_ and I've only really done it once."

"Only once?" he glanced down at me, quirking an eyebrow.

"To see if I could," I clarified. "It never occurred to me until I realized you could."

"I see." He paused a moment, then gave a short nod, almost to himself, "Then it would indeed be prudent to inform the Headmaster of your ability."

"Hai. I will do so."

"Good," he stopped in front of a statue of a griffon, gave it a positively _venomous_ glare, and said "Ice Mice."

I decided not to ask about the odd password—wasn't that a kind of Wizarding candy?—and followed Sensei up the staircase revealed as the griffon leapt aside.

The Headmaster greeted us, wearing blazingly purple robes covered in twinkling yellow stars—I suppressed a wince. That color combination… was he color-blind?

"Ah, Tsume, Severus. Have a seat, both of you," he gestured to two chairs that had obviously been waiting for us, "Lemon drop?"

"Tsume cannot have your lemon drops, Albus," Sensei stated, "The Calming Draught you had me infuse them with has a poor effect on her."

Whoa. _/Thank you, Sensei./_ Really did _not_ want to repeat previous experiences with that one.

He nodded subtly and I returned my attention to the Headmaster as he looked rather crestfallen before putting the bowl of lemon drops back on his desk and seating himself in a chair across from us.

"Now, Tsume, from what I hear your familiars have caused minimal fuss, considering they are such a great distance away from you, but is there anything you want to talk about?"

Ah. So… plenty, but not too much that I safely could. "Hai. Snape-sensei has pointed out that my ability to both project and read thought is… unusual."

The Headmaster blinked, "You are a natural Legilemens?"

"She is," Sensei agreed.

"I will have to ask you not to read others' minds, child," Dumbledore said seriously.

"I will not read another's mind unless I perceive myself to be in danger."

Dumbledore looked at me searchingly, then nodded, "Thank you, child. Severus has brought to my attention the fact that you wish to get the statue outside your rooms to respond to a non-verbal passcode?"

I nodded, "I don't want it to be accessible to just anyone who manages to overhear the password."

"As I pointed out earlier, Albus," Sensei broke in, "That is a prudent precaution, considering her status and her House."

"Well, then," Dumbledore gave a twinkly-eyed smile, "Shall we take care of that now? Tsume, we could set the statue to respond to your Magical Signature."

I smiled slightly, "Thank you, Headmaster. Although it would be… _wise_ to have at least Sensei and Madame Pomfrey also able to enter."

He nodded, still twinkling. Ugh. Eyes should _not_ do that. Ever.

"Before we go, is there anything else?"

I considered. No, nothing I trusted him enough to speak of, not yet. Except the Transfiguration setup, but that was something I'd wait until I had my first class with the Fourth-Years to worry about.

"No, Headmaster."

He nodded and the three of us trooped down to the dungeons, gathering Madame Pomfrey along the way, and reset the statue. Then Madame Pomfrey promptly chased off both the Headmaster and Sensei and asked if she could come in.

I nodded, "Of course."

I suspected why she had asked.

"Severus asked me to speak with you," she stated without preamble, and my suspicions were instantly confirmed.

"Yes, I suppose he would have. Sensei _did_ say he would find someone…"

"What's wrong, child?"

I sighed. I'd tried to put it out of my mind, having so much to do and think about, but even so… the image from the train ride haunted the back of my mind, never quite fading away. I didn't really know her, and I didn't want to break that horrible memory down into words. To do so would make it seem even more real.

"I'd thought… I was over this. As over as I ever would be, anyway," I amended. "But… the Dementors on the train…"

Her mild concern turned to a sharper worry.

"I had a brother, once…" and I told her, told her what I'd told countless therapists my parents had sent me to, careful not to reveal the others. The flash of Dracon lurked behind my words, ever so carefully avoided.

I let myself remember, good times and bad… even unto the last. And I spoke until I could speak no more, my throat tightening with grief and silent rage.

And I knew then that I would willingly give my life to keep others from feeling that same pain, from having their family and friends taken from them by this invasion, this _alien_ force that did not and would never belong.

Yeerks have no place in my world. And I would do anything, _anything_ to see to it that they learned that… the hard way.

Madame Pomfrey spoke words of comfort and solace—more convincingly than many had, but words that washed over me, untouching but for the fact that she truly meant them.

My true solace would be seeing an end to this. With magic added to my weapons… I would fight to secure this world. But first, I had to _learn_ the magic… and what of allies? If the Yeerks had discovered the Wizarding World, surely our tiny rebellion would already have been put down.

"Try to get some sleep, child," Madame Pomfrey said gently, breaking through my thoughts.

I nodded and Madame Pomfrey frowned slightly, then nodded to herself. "I'll bring you a dose of Dreamless Sleep, dear. You look like you could use it."

Well. There go my plans for the night. But for one…

She left quietly, presumably to get the named potion, and I sat down at my desk, pulling out a sheet of parchment and my fountain pen and began to write in careful code.

_Dear Marco,_

_I know this is going to sound like a joke, but I'm deadly serious…_

_xxxx_

_Hey, quick update. Inspiration's running high for this story, at the moment. Here you guys go._


End file.
